


Naught but our master's toys

by WillowWolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mild Gore, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Content, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 34,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowWolf/pseuds/WillowWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of being surprised with a wedding to tyrion, Sansa is surprised with a wedding to the Hound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There was a really bad thunderstorm last night so I decided to try my hand at some SanSan smut. Only instead of smut my brain wrote a story. (for shame.) Being as it's going to be a little bit before the two of them get together in my other fic I decided to just go with it. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I'm pretty sure it'll evolve, the story is already writing itself in my head. 
> 
> This first chapter is ripped off so hard from the book, I have no shame... Thanks George!!!
> 
> Warnings to readers!  
> Possible spoiler...  
> No body is abusive, and nobody does anything they don't want to. Although, Sandor may get a little handsy in the PG-rated sense. And people do get naked. So if that kind of thing creeps you out, turn back now. O_O

It was a dark and stormy night, when they wed him to her. If he were a religious man, Sandor might think that the Old Gods were exerting their wroth in an attempt to break apart Kings Landing. He laughed darkly into his cup, before draining it of it's contents a dark red wine. Like blood. He was not without his humors it would seem. The Hound was not a man to be bedded, and when the cry came up he had only to sneer at whoever braved to approach him. He had half a mind to leave the girl to hers, but the thought of stealing this small thing from the little shit who bound her too him was to much to ignore. 

"I'll bed my own wife." He sneered, and with a nod and a wicked grin to the king, let him make of that what he will The Hound had plucked the little bird from her perch and thrown her bodily over his shoulder. She had shrieked in protest, and a flush of red had bloomed across her cheeks. "Come along, wife. Your husband has need of you." He'd growled to her. 

They were well away from the grand hall and to the wing of their new chambers when he finally set her down. She was flushed, and awkwardly set about straightening her silks. He dared to look at her then, with her gaze so averted. 

"Come along then little bird. I may not be your prince, but nor am I Joffery."   
She glanced up at him then. Her face a brave mask. "No, you have been kind to me. I remember." She paused then, this part of the Keep unfamiliar. 

"If it please my Lord, I do not know the way." Her voice faltered but once, and when their eyes met, there was a resignedness there. He nodded, and offered her his arm. He was no gentle knight, but he was yet a man and this was his lot. As they made their way to their chambers, The Hound thought back to his family. The small folk may marry for love or dowries, but lords and ladies, and knights have names and houses to see to. It was common, and proudly accepted that you would marry who you were told for their benefit. 

Even as a second son to a minor house, the name Clegane still instilled fear and for those not as in favor with such a powerful house, it was a means of advancement. Though he had no father left to brokerage a match for him, the Hound had his fair share of minor lords approach him seeking matches for their daughters. Although his face was a ruin, and he wasn't seen the pleasant sort, he was a far cry better than his brother. Mayhap those lords had hoped his brother would die without an heir, and Sandor could step up with their daughter in tow. A man could do worse, as could a Lady. 

He supposed, if things went the way the Lannister's wished them, that if the little birds brother's all perished, her husband would secure the north. The Clegane's had been ever loyal to their masters, what better way than raise up an indentured family? He snorted at that, stopping once he realized they had come to their chambers at last. 

"My lord?" Sansa asked, looking up at him. He nodded, and pushed the doors open. 

"Welcome home, little bird."

\--------------------------------------------

She had tried to run when the Queen had come for her, though she hadn't made it more than a yard. Afterwards, when Ser Osmund bade her to be brave like a wolf she felt foolish. They were within their rights to marry her off, as a ward of the crown. If she thought about it truly, Tyrell, Lannister or she supposed now, Clegane it made no difference. It isn't me they want, only my claim. The Hound had been kind to her though, and her Lady mother had been married off to secure an alliance as well. It wasn't her father her mother had been meant to marry, but her uncle who was slain at the hand of the mad king. 

He's not as ugly as the Imp she thought bitterly, and fought the tears that threatened to spill down her face. The Hound kicked the door shut behind them, and the resounding thud echoed throughout the lavish bedchamber. 

"There is a flagon of wine of the table, little bird. Be a good wife and pour your husband a cup." The hound slumped into a chair and began to rid himself of his boots. 

"Is that wise, my lord--" She stopped short when the hound fixed her with a glare. Sansa made her way to the table and poured them both a glass. After she handed him his, she retreated to the great bed and sat, draining hers in three long swallows. She was too nervous to taste it, and drinking it so fast made her head spin. "Would you have me undress, my lord? Or would you prefer to undress me?"

"My name is Sandor, and you may do as you please. It won't matter how it happens in the end." The hound upended his cup and made to drink another. His jerkin thrown over the back of the chair and his tunic hanging open exposing a mass of scars and dark black hair. 

Sansa poured herself another glass and began to loosen her gown. 

"We'll get on with it then, if it please you." He mumbled, standing up. 

"It will please me to please my lord husband." That angered him, and the hound grabbed her arm tightly, pulling her towards him. The sudden movement making her queasy. "You hide behind your courtesy as if it were a castle wall, even still." 

"You're hurting me." Sansa tore her arm from his grasp. He hadn't truly, but he frightened her when he got like this. Neither of them had a choice in the matter, the least he could do was make the best of it. 

"I am your husband now, little bird. You can take off your armor." 

"My name is Sansa, and I suppose you would have me remove what remains of my clothing as well?" 

The hound poured himself another glass. "That too." he responded, as he drained it. "The king and my Lord Tywin both have commanded me to fuck you, and a dog is nothing if not loyal. Besides, if I don't, their claim to the North is null."

"You mean your claim, truly." Sansa countered, laying her silken dress gently to the side. 

"You're a bigger fool than I thought if you think that the case. I am little and less my own man, and never was. They own me the same as you." He laughed bitterly to himself and sat back on the bed, his eyes daring finally to trace her up and down. "You're very tall, little bird." he whispered at last. 

Sansa felt a blush color her cheeks, and as she dropped the last of her under-things to the floor, she found she could not look up. He sighed heavily, and the noise gave her courage. When she caught his eyes they seemed torn between hunger and fury, where only rage had lived before. Septa Mordane had once said that all men are beautiful, and that one has only to find that beauty. Sansa took a deep breath and tried. He is my husband. She repeated to herself. 

She wished that she could say the gentle lighting made Sandor's face more comely, but it instead shed a harsh light upon his scars. There is something of the North in his features though. She thought. His heavy brow, and dark hair... And it would be a lie to say that Sandor was not well built, she could see that more clearly than ever now as he removed his tunic and stood to loose his britches. His back was broad, and it seemed as though he was made up of layer upon layer of sinuous muscle. The same color of inky black hair that hung long and lanky from his head, covered his chest and worked it's way down his abdomen and... Sansa blushed to herself and turned away from him. 

The Queen's words, though once meant for Joffery now came back to her. You may not love him, but you will love his children. She took strength in that. When she had imagined herself married to Willas in Highgarden she had thought up a brood of children, all of whom had the Stark look. She had named them after her father and brothers, and mayhap even one who looked as Arya did. Although, hopefully she would be better suited for needlework. Sansa supposed that she might have the same with Sandor, that even if she didn't get Highgarden, and even though returning North was some time off... Maybe the King would grant them lands so that he might take her away from King's landing. Sansa thought she might like that. 

\-----

He set a heavy hand upon her shoulder, and bade her turn around to face him. She sucked in her breath, and he felt himself grimace in answer. The little bird had truly become a woman, and he felt himself react to the gentle curves of her body. An awkward silence fell between them, and he brushed passed her to get another drink. It may not have been so wise, as he felt himself stagger slightly, but right now he could not face in good conscious what they would have him do. 

She was a woman yes, and his wife, but he still saw her as an innocent. Even still, he was a man, and could not say how long he could deny himself what every law of the realm gave him full rights to do. 

"I don't suppose you saved me a glass?" 

He glanced behind him to see her standing still, covering herself with her hands. He poured what remained in the flagon in his glass and held it out to her. She seamed to struggle with whether to take it or to remain covered. Sandor stepped forward, instead, and held the glass to her lips. Her eyes met his as he tipped it slightly and she took a measure sip. Her gaze breaking from his only when she wrinkled her nose at the taste. 

"No stomach for wine, little bird?" He asked, proffering the glass again. 

Sansa shook her head. "Father would let us have a glass at feasts, but it is not much to my liking."

"Aye... Maybe when your a bit older then." 

Sansa acquiesced and crawled up onto the bed, lying flat out on her back. After a moment, she felt a weight on the bed near her and she felt herself tense. The next thing she knew, the coverlet had been thrown over her. Sansa opened her eyes in shock to find the candle by the bed blown out, and Sandor having crawled into bed on the far side. She rolled over so as to have a better look at him. He had the coverlet up to his waist, and one arm lay over his eyes. 

"Beg pardon, my Lord.." Sansa wasn't entirely sure what to do now. This did not seem to be what was supposed to be happening. He didn't look at her, but instead sighed deeply. 

"I've drunk too much wine, little bird. Do you know what it means when a man drinks too much wine?" His voice did not slur, nor did he mince his words. Sansa suspected he had not drank as much as he claimed. 

"I'm afraid I don't."

He let out a snide chuckle, low and rasping. It left him shaking from the effort and Sansa felt the subtle movement of the bed. He lowered his arm and peered at her in the darkness. 

"It means I am unable to have my little wife tonight. Mayhap we'll try again on the morrow. You're safe for now little bird, best get some rest." 

With that, he rolled over, turning his back on her. Sansa slipped down further under the coverlet and tried to decide how this new change had left her feeling. She was glad she supposed, for having the Hound lay with her was not something she dreamed of. but there was something else too. Though she supposed he really could have drank too much, Sansa thought he may have played a murmurs farce for her own well-being. They really could have married me to someone worse. How many men would deny them-self on their wedding night for the sake of the bride? Sansa thought she may not mind being married to the Hound so much after all. No, his name is Sandor and he is my husband. Now that she was beginning to calm, Sansa decided that although his burn was fearsome thing to behold, Sandor wasn't all bad to look at.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a mini(aka giant) note to everyone reading this:
> 
> Who would have thought my failed attempt at smut writing would be so well received! Thanks to everyone who left comments encouraging me to continue writing this. I have literally re-written this next chapter so many times and I never do that, but I really wanted it to be as good as the first one. Especially considering I had mainly aimed to keep this as a one-shot. That being said, I hope that if you liked this story as just a one-shot that I gave enough closure in the last chapter that you can just leave it there and imagine your own future for them without getting upset that I kind of fell in love with this set-up and wanted to continue on. I did stumble a bit at points, but hopefully that doesn't detract from the story and it still feels natural. Sansa was giving me trouble this time through... 
> 
> Also, Thank you so so much everyone who left kudos!!!

It had not been a pleasant night, and the following week was less pleasant still. The Hound had both Lord Tywin and King Joffery to face when it had become apparent that he had not bed his Lady wife. While Joffery had believed that the Hound had drank himself to sleep each night before completing the task, Lord Tywin had given him a knowing look. Once the boy King had left, Lord Tywin had made himself clear in no uncertain terms that if the deed was not done in due time, the wedding would be proclaimed null and he would marry the girl off to another. "Mayhap a true Lannister would do the job properly." He had said. 

Sandor stabbed at the peas on his plate. It had been a fortnight since they'd been wed, and though he had been able to keep up the ruse long enough he was running out of excuses. His duty in guarding the King, his want of drink... Yet each excuse held little and less merit, even to him. Especially each night as he crawled into bed next to her. He would lay there and watch as she fell asleep, the gentle curves of her body rising and falling with her breath. She found a solace in slumber that she did not know while awake, and he found himself envying her. He did want Sansa, and badly, but he would not force her. Not until their safety truly depended upon it. _Not hers so much as mine._ he thought smugly. _they can get a new Hound, but Starks are becoming scarce._

He had told her of what the crown was referring to as the Red Wedding, but even as the words left his lips He knew she had already found out. Not that her face gave her away, but her eyes bore a knowing kind of sorrow. Sandor had left her then, and she had slipped away to cry behind closed doors, and again she wept as they fell asleep. He had longed to comfort her then, but a gentle caress was all he'd dared, and she seemed to quiet at his touch. _It was naught to do with me, yet still she lays blame at my feet._ "Would that I could have stopped it, little bird." He had said, and she had looked at him then and he knew she felt the truth in his words. He had never hurt her, and had sworn to protect her twice over. Once on the night of the Blackwater, and again when he'd lain his cloak around her shoulders. 

"The peas are overcooked." Sansa ventured, interrupting his brooding. 

Sandor squashed them heavily under his fork, the girl was not wrong. "So is the mutton. It is no matter, I hunger for other things and they must mean to starve me to them." 

His heavily lidded eyes landed upon her, and he felt her squirm under his gaze. He had been too deep in his cups again. It was not his lot to drink so frequently, only when opportunity was granted. Yet being a Lord had it's privilege and he found himself with more spare time and less to do, including guard the King. He suspected Lord Tywin did it subtly on purpose to drive him towards his game. 

"I am sorry, my Lord." 

"Again with the curtosey. Tell me _little wife_ did you slave in the kitchen to prepare our meal? Are the peas your province?"

Sansa blushed furiously. "No my Lord, but I... I am sorry my Lord husband is displeased." 

Sandor snorted with disdain at that. "Your curtain wall is high, my Lady." He sneered, "Would you have me yet stand at the castle gates and beg. I am a dog it would seem, so I suppose it suits." 

Their eyes locked for a moment, and Sansa seemed at a loss as for how to proceed. No doubt her Septa had not prepared her for a husband such as him. He could tell his words had stung, yet he could not help himself. The weight of his _duty_ was unlike anything he had faced. Give him a sword and men to kill over a woman and courtesy any day. The silence lingered between them until finally, She stood. Her hands knitted gently together before her. 

"I would ask your leave to visit the godswood, my Lord."

Sandor tipped back his glass, draining the sour red wine within. "Yes little bird. Fly to the safety of your old Gods and your trees. Beg them to free you of this hell. Or me." He refilled his glass. "Mayhap I'll join you little bird. I care not for Gods, but a man could do with the silence of nature away from this place and its eyes and ears."

Sansa had been praying a lot lately, both in the sept and the godswood. Had he not known better, he would think that she was spiriting away to visit some young lover. Jealousy burned as bright as rage, and he would be damned if he let another have her when he could not. She had stiffened when he made his offer, which only made his vague notion settle more resolutely in his mind. 

"No." She said suddenly "You are kind to offer, but you wouldn't like it. It is only silent prayer and introspection." 

"Do you think you know me so well girl?" She shuffled in a most unladylike manor, reminding him of the young girl she truly was. He was not so old himself, being only two and nine on his next name day. Yet with little more than ten years between them he felt it. They had both been made to live much in such short lives. 

"Go girl." he answered finally. "Give silent prayer to your woodland gods, pray for a short winter, a bountiful harvest... And for sweet revenge." He tipped back his glass again. 

"For my Lord husband as well." She whispered to him, and after ghosting him with a kiss upon his good cheek, she left him. Sandor felt the kiss linger long after she had taken her leave. 

\----------------------------------

Sansa could not blame him for being so deep in his cups. The keep had been all a flutter with preparation for the Kings own wedding, but her shame did not escape the gossip. She had overheard the maids speak of how the Hound had yet to claim his Lady, and the rumors got crueler with every silent night that passed, and with every morning when their sheets were seen to be clean. 

She had half a mind to let him take her. Try as she might, Sansa could not contain the desire that had been born inside her that first night, and every-night since when she saw her husband dress down for bed. He was kind to her, and he was physically superior to most men. Especially Joffery, who had retained his boyish litheness and delicate features. Sandor at the least could protect her, he had promised her he would. 

After having heard tell of her Brother and Mother's murder at the hands of, she didn't doubt, the Lannisters as well as the Frey's, Sansa had found herself yearning to be held and comforted. She had no one now, and doubted greatly that Arya yet lived for she had been missing so long. _I am the last Stark._ Sansa thought bitterly. Sandor had come to her that night, and told her himself, not realizing until he said the words that she already knew her families fate. He had summoned the courage to tell her, she knew. He did not revel in her misery, that much had been made clear to her. 

She suspected that the Hound, _no, Sandor_ was the last person alive who truly cared for her. That night was the first in which he had touched her since their marriage, and it was only to lay his hand gently upon her shoulder. It was a brief touch, and yet coming from him, it meant more than she could say. She had cried herself to sleep a little more quietly that night, the pain seeming less to bear with him there. 

It had been with guilt since then that she had continued to meet Ser Dontos in the godswood. He was a drunkard, and forced himself at her lecherously. Yet he promised her freedom. Sansa had been meeting him in secret since long before the Lannister's had married her off, and had hoped that he would spirit her away from here long before she fell prey to some man in a marriage bed. Things it seemed, had not come to pass as she had hoped. _I had thought to make him my Florian,_ Sansa thought. _But he is less and less a would-be knight, and more a fool in motley. He cannot save me, so I must see to myself._

This night, Sansa resolved would be her last seeing him. She had tried to tell him such when he pressed himself against her, leaving slobbery kisses upon her cheek. However Ser Dontos had refused to hear it, insisting that she have only to wait a little longer and gave her a net to wear in her hair. "This is your freedom, it is magical and it will help me whisk you away." He had said. "Wear it the night of Joffery's wedding, sweetling." Sansa had accepted it so he might leave her be, begging once again his silence on their meetings. She wasn't so sure any trinket could help her, less it were one sent by the gods, and bid him farewell. 

When Sansa arrived back in her and Sandor's chambers, it was dark and the maids had all gone. Sandor sat in an arm chair by the fire dozing, his legs splayed before him in a most ungallant manor. Sansa made to ignore him, and began the task of undressing herself when she heard him shift in his sleep. His voice no more than a whisper in the darkness. 

"Sansa..." 

She felt her heart stop momentarily, she turned to him. "My Lord?"

It was then she realized then her mistake, Sandor slept on. His good side facing her in the firelight. _He dreams of me..._ Sansa realized. Rather than continue to undress, Sansa decided that he could not be comfortable sleeping in the chair and decided to rouse him and help him to bed. Her hand settled softly on his shoulder and she shook him gently. 

"Sandor?" Her voice quiet, so as not to startle him. Sansa supposed that from this angle, his face was not all so bad. _He might have been considered comely if not for his burns_ she thought absentmindedly. Without realizing it, her hand left his shoulder and caressed his face. Her fingers gently brushing his thick black hair away so she could see him fully. 

His hand snatched hers, and Sansa yelped in surprise. 

"Still dressed, my Lady?" His voice came rumbling from his chest, thick with sleep and drink. "What sort of tryst would keep my _little wife_ from her bed so late?" 

Sansa had not realized the hour had been so late and cursed, to herself, Ser Dontos for having been so late coming to her this night. The edge to Sandor's voice made her uneasy, and as she choked on her words unsure of how to answer his grip tightened ever so slightly. She saw a burning in his eyes, though she could not say what stoked the flame. 

"Please... I only--"

"You only what, little bird?" He dropped her hand, and rose, swaying slightly. He took a step and stumbled, and Sansa found herself lurching to help steady him. His head lolled against hers, and Sansa heard him sniff. Her heart began to beat quickly as she realized that she hadn't changed. That Ser Dontos had been particularly keen on being close to her this night. _I smell of him._ she realized suddenly, just as did the Hound. 

He broke away from her, pulling himself to stand, and stumbled in the direction of their bed. Sansa followed him slowly, wary of what he would do next. She reached out a hand to help him, but he pulled away from her, almost hissing at her touch. The way he looked up at her scared her. There was a hunger there, and a rage which she felt all too keenly. 

"Who is he?" he sneered. "This knight whom you deem so much more worthy of your affection than I?"

She could not answer, and he closed on her, his large figure looming above her in the darkness of their chambers. "Tell me true girl, you're always were a terrible liar. I'll know it if you do."

Sansa shrunk back, _I cannot tell him. He wouldn't understand._ "It is not what you think." She murmured. The Hound scoffed at that. _He hates liars worse than anything..._ Sansa did not want him to hate her, she felt that now. Sansa recalled something that Sandor had said to her on their wedding night. His words to her echoing in her head, _"I am your husband now, little bird. You can take off your armor."_ Sansa gathered her courage.

"He said he would help me." she ventured finally, her voice breaking in defeat and fear. "... Said that he would take me home." 

He barked out a laugh that was cruel and almost mirthful. "Aye, and you believed him. This gallant knight. Thought that like a song he would spirit you from this place." Sandor fell silent then, his gaze falling from her, his next words a whisper so quiet she wasn't so sure she heard them. "Am I so awful..."

The unspoken end to his words hung between them. _"That you would leave me?"_ Sansa did not know how to respond. She did not think him awful, and in fact had come to accept her situation. Even relish her quiet evenings spent with one whom she knew would not speak ill of her behind her back, or give her pain. He had thus far saved her from the worst of Joffrey's wroth, and even more so since they had been wed. Of Course He was cold and cruel, but she had sensed he had a gentleness towards her. Made even more evident as he had refused to touch her even after she had resigned herself to him on their wedding night. 

It was his words ringing true that led her to believe that her meetings with Ser Dontos were folly. _I know not where the Fool's loyalties truly lay... He could mean to lure me along and then turn me into the King. Even after I saved his life, he is no true knight. There are no true knights._ Sansa realized that the Hound was the only one here who had sought to protect her without thinking of what she could give him in return. 

Suddenly, She felt that after loosing everyone else, loosing Sandor would not be something she could bare. Sansa reached out to him then, forgetting herself. In her hand, the hair-net Ser Dontos had given her caught the light. Sandor looked down to it, seeing it for the first time since her arrival. Sansa tried to hide it within the folds of her dress but it was too late. 

"Give it here girl." He growled, all tenderness having left his voice. 

Sansa held it out to him, her hand shaking. He stood upright, taking the delicate thing in his hands and turning it in the light. 

"If I knew it were shiny trinkets that caught your affections, I would have lavished you in gems on our wedding night. Mayhap then you would have had me." He leered at her in the darkness, and Sansa made to slap him, but he caught her hand with ease. "That isn't very Ladylike little bird." 

"I should thank you to give me more credit than that, Ser." She wrenched her hand from his, and saw the Hounds eyes darken. He had been hurtful, but she regretted having tried to hit him almost immediately. He brought out a fury in her which she could not contain, and Sansa feared what her actions may have inspired. He didn't leave her long to find out. 

"Give me his name girl." He growled, dropping the delicate thing on the floor. "I'll get it from you wether you give it willingly or no, the choice is yours." 

Sansa felt her heart beat quicken. _What does he mean to do?_ Sansa shrank back from him, but the Hound caught her arm and pulled her to him. _He would not--_

"What will you do, my Lord?" His face held no emotion, save for the rage that burned within his eyes, and Sansa shivered. 

"What I do is my own business. Save yourself some pain, girl. Give me his name." His grip tightened slightly. 

"You won't hurt me." Sansa declared, believing if she said it, it would calm the fear she was feeling. He let out a breath she didn't realize he was holding, and a grim smirk flashed across his face. 

"You? no. Far from it, my Lady." He let her go, and stepped back. "You're a foolish thing, and your Lord husband means to save your honor." 

Sansa couldn't say where his abrupt change in manor had come from, his rage leaving for something else so suddenly it caught her unaware. "Ser Dontos." Sansa felt the name leave her mouth in a whisper before she could stop it. He sneered, disbelief gracing his features. 

"You would bet your life on a fool." Sandor shook his head, "Life is no song, little bird. It's long past time you learned." With that, and a renewed sobriety Sandor donned his jerkin and took up his sword. He left her there, in their chambers. 

_I am a foolish thing, to lay my hopes on a man who would risk his life for a drink..._ Sansa thought, her knees giving way beneath her. _and My lord husband has gone to kill him._ She did not feel sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just kind of came out this morning... I hadn't planned on it happening for a while, but fictional characters kind of just do their own thing. I decided to go with it because I figure there should be something to distract us before the you know what hits the fan. ;-)

She had stayed on the floor for sometime after he had left, her mind blank. Unable to form any speculations as to what would happen to her, to them, had her treason been discovered. The kings wedding was no more than a few days off, and her future was uncertain. Eventually, she had rose and slipped free of her dress and camisoles letting them fall carelessly to the floor. It was then, when she was in naught but her small clothes, that he returned. 

She had not heard him enter, so lost in her thoughts as she was, and it was not until his sword dropped heavily to the floor that she turned to see him not tow paces from her. He was breathing heavily, and his face was a tumult of emotion. they stood there like that, neither daring to move ,k until finally Sansa decided that she couldn't very well stand about in her under things all night and needed to put on her sleeping shift. 

Her hand had barely ghosted the fabric when he caught it and drew her to him. The smell of wine yet lingered upon him. Even now after the effects of the drink had long since worn off. Sansa could se no trace upon him of where he'd been, and in looking down she say his sword was yet clean. Her eyes lingered there. 

"You think me such a fool as that?" His voice came low and deep, an air of amusement clouding it. She was so close that she had felt it rumble up from his chest, and lifted her eyes to his. "Knights are for killing, little bird. It is a task I know well."

"But... You are not a knight, my Lord." She managed at last, her face searching his for some form of answer. Her efforts were rewarded with a husky laugh from her husbands lips. 

"No, I am not." He dropped her hand and made to loosen his jerkin, beckoning for her to help him. Sansa approached him slowly, her hands falling un-surely on his jerkins fastenings. "I will have you tonight, little wife." He whispered gently in her ear. His words sent a shiver down her spine, and a flush of warmth to her face, and elsewhere. Sansa felt her heartbeat quicken. 

He took her that night, in the small hours before dawn. Kings Landing not yet awake, and as they finished and he rolled off of her the first glow of morning had only just began to illuminate the horizon. There was more passion than Sansa would have thought, and he had ravished her in an almost desperate manor, all propriety having left them. His need was a fearsome thing, and yet Sansa felt well satiated after. 

\---------------------------------

She had blushed prettily when he had told her that he would deny himself no longer. Yet, even then with his blood up from the deed and his lust most powerful seeing her standing there in naught but her under-things, he knew he would not take her if she did not will it. She was still at first, after he spoke, but then her fingers remembered there purpose and she made short work of helping him undress. 

Sandor stood there, watching her as she moved unknowingly and yet with little hesitation. Little enough at least until she made to lift his tunic from him, and had to stop. 

"If you would... I cannot reach." She had said, her eyes finally lifting to his own. He removed it himself, and could have sworn he heard her catch her breath at the sight of him. He had noticed of late, how she watched him as he disrobed for bed at night, and when he rose again in the morning. She was not the only one with courtesy, and though he had neglected his for some time, he still bore himself well enough to pretend he didn't notice her burgeoning curiosity. 

Her fingers hesitated momentarily, but gently laid themselves against his stomach, tracing both hair and scars alike. Her face showing her wonder. It was not what he had expected, and she stood like that for sometime setting her own pace. Sandor however was not as inclined to wait, and as he felt himself harden the lower her hand fell, he found he could take no more. 

"There will be time enough for that later, little wife." He said gruffly, interrupting her musings. He grasped her chin gently, raising her eyes to his. Although she had not shied away, he still wanted her to want _him_ fully. Her eyes had searched him then, and finally, she raised herself up and planted a gentle kiss upon his lips. Their first since the ceremony in the sept, the one she ghosted upon his cheek earlier not withstanding. It was all the confirmation he needed, and she yelped in a most unladylike way when he plucked her from the floor and carried her to the bed. 

_The gods may yet be real_ he thought, as he fell upon her. Her skin feeling like fire upon his lips, and his hunger for her touch consuming him. She was quiet, too polite to make any wanton noises, although he could tell from the look in her eyes and the way she shivered when he touched her that she would not have him stop. 

He made short work of her under-things flinging them to join her dress on the floor, and sat back to drink in the sight of her. Sansa blushed with uncertainty then, and bit her lip. He felt himself stiffen in his breaches. "Gods, you are beautiful." 

She blushed even redder at that, and a small smile graced her lips. "I am pleased to have pleased you my lord." she managed. 

"Sansa..." Even yet, she kept herself from him. He rubbed his face. "If you do not wish this.." 

Hesitantly, Sansa spread her legs before him, and Sandor lost himself in watching her. Slowly, Sansa's gentle touch and her gaze drew his eyes back to hers. "Sandor... I would have you now." 

\-----------

It was the second time he took her in as many hours that she felt herself tense, and felt an unladylike cry struggle from her lips. The sound only seemed to encourage him, and it was not long before another, and another cry left her lips. A fourth threatened to spill forth and he silenced it my kissing her with a fervor she had only just begun to match. He grunted, thrusting himself into her again and again, with one hand cradling her head to his, and the other stuck down between them caressing her in a most lewd fashion. 

Sansa felt herself shiver intensely and all thoughts fled her mind, her body becoming a conduit for her passion, as if nothing else ever had or ever would matter. In this moment, there was only her, and Sandor and they were close to becoming one. Sansa felt her arms clutch his back as she was slammed with another wave, and her fingernails left red stripes along his back adding her scars to those that had long since healed. His movements came faster then, and she moaned desperately as he tore his lips from hers to release a feral cry as his body tensed inside hers. His actions serving to only send her over the edge again. 

She awoke a short time later, with the dawn breaking in the distance, and Sandor's head cradled against her chest. Sansa supposed that this was the first time she had been happy in many moons, and she almost felt guilty. Her family had all been taken from her, and yet... In their ploy to take all that was left to her, to gain control of her even more fully, her enemies had gifted her with something she had always longed for. The one thing that her father had promised to her before he too was taken from her. A husband who was brave, and gentle, and strong. 

"My fearsome warrior." She murmured, and placed a chaste kiss upon his forehead. He responded naught, but in his slumber pulled her tighter to him. 

It wasn't until later when she broke her fast alone that she heard the news from her servants. It would seem the King's fool had finally drank himself to death, and had been dredged up from the moat as the sun rose gently over the horizon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay!!! I haven't abandoned this, I promise. I just had a really chaotic month topped off with a terrible flu. Plus side? I have another chapter almost ready after this one, and should hopefully be posting it by tonight. :-)
> 
> Sorry in advance if this one is a little choppy, it was originally two different takes on the same chapter picking up from different spots/pov's and I couldn't decide which I liked better so I combined them.

"Lady Stark, you're blushing." Margaery whispered conspiratorially to Sansa, placing a delicate hand against her thigh. They were sitting in the gardens of the Red Keep, Margaery having summoned Sansa late in the afternoon to take tea with her. Sansa had been unsure what the young lady who would be Queen on the 'morrow had wanted with her, but it would seem that all though Margaery's attempts to marry Sansa to her brother had failed, the girl bore her no ill will. _"I know it was not your doing, this marriage of yours, and it saddens me greatly that we cannot be sisters."_ Margaery had said. She did seem genuinely concerned about Sansa's well-being, but if there was one thing Sansa had learned from her husband, trust is not something to be given lightly if at all. 

It was around then that Margaery had asked Sansa if the Hound had been kind to her, and if Sansa had wished for any advice in regards to her marriage being as her own mother was not here to give her such. Without waiting for answer she had whisked Sansa away to her Grandmother and here the three sat. 

"So you have been bedded at last." Lady Olenna sighed with displeasure. "I had hoped that you might manage to hold out so that we might dissolve this farce once Margaery became Queen."

"Grandmother, it is a miracle Lady Sansa held out as long as she did. You know how men get." At that, Sansa blushed even more furiously. She supposed it wasn't a bad thing to be so distracted though, but such idle gossip. Not more than a day had passed since Sansa had heard of the death of Ser Dontos, and Sansa still found herself jumping at odd sounds. It lay in the back of her mind that Sandor would be discovered, and that they both would be taken before the King. 

He had not said in as many words that he had seen to the Fool's demise, but Sansa did not believe herself so naive as to believe otherwise. Sansa's folly had put her life in danger, should she have been discovered, and Sandor had gone to dispose of the sole witness to her deception. _"You're Lord husband seeks to save your honor."_ he had said, before setting out into the night. He had not given her much opportunity to ask him of it, and Sansa knew better than to broach the subject with any blunt purpose inside the Red Keep. She knew as well as anyone the walls had ears and eyes. 

Sansa had tried to allude to it that evening, to ascertain how to proceed, but Sandor had silenced her. He was well spoken when he chose, she had discovered, but he chose more often than not to remain silent. _No doubt a result of his life as a guard, meant to been seen and not heard._ Sandor had taken her again that night, and though she was sore from their previous coupling, he was relentless. Sansa blushed redder at that, remembering the way he had lifted her to the bed and undressed her. The way his hands were gentle, and yet moved with swift purpose. She had recalled at the time seeing him fight in the Hand's tourney when she had first arrived in Kings Landing. _He makes love like he fights. _She thought, _With ferocity, passion and grace surprising for one such as him.___

____Sansa had lost herself again in his arms, her questions fleeing her mind, and all desperate attempts to maintain her decorum failing miserably. She had found herself reveling in his strength and physic. As well as crying out to the Gods to save her from the waves of bliss which struggled to overtake her. Sandor had laughed heartily at that, and assured her that the Gods had nothing to do with it, before ravishing her again. Her only regret was once again waking without him near. She had not awaken with him by her side since they had come together, nor seen him aside from when he came to bed. It had only been two days since, and yet the loss was felt most ardently._ _ _ _

____"Have you a dress to wear to my wedding tomorrow Lady Sansa? Some trinket perhaps?" Margaery asked, interrupting Sansa's recollections._ _ _ _

____"The Queen saw fit--"_ _ _ _

____"The Queen Regent you mean." Lady Olenna interrupted. Sansa flushed again, for having misspoke._ _ _ _

____"Yes.. The Queen Regent... She saw fit to have some new dresses made for me as a gift from the Crown for my wedding. I shall wear one of those."_ _ _ _

____"...And in your hair?" Margaery asked. "Something with Amethysts would complement your color wonderfully, have you anything? If not, I might lend you a piece."_ _ _ _

____Sansa thought instantly to the hair net that Ser Dontos gave her, and flushed. She could not, Sandor would not allow it. Especially not after what he had done. "I have none, but such stones would not complement any of the dresses the Queen Regent gave me. They are all Clegane and Lannister colors you see."_ _ _ _

____Lady Olenna's mouth set itself in a grim line._ _ _ _

____"Mayhap I can find you something then." Margaery brokered. "Just let me know what you chose as soon as you may... The wedding is close after all."_ _ _ _

____Sansa nodded. "That would be most gracious of you, my Lady."_ _ _ _

____\-------------_ _ _ _

____He had awoken with the little bird wrapped tightly in his arms. He had not dared linger in the mornings after she woke, yet today all excuses had been taken from him. They were expected to arrive, as guests of honor, at the Kings wedding day family breakfast. As a Clegane, the honor would not have been given him, yet he had married a Stark. A family whose own heritage was that of the Kings of Winter. Kings who had only knelt to Targaryeans, Baratheons only by default, and certainly not Lannisters._ _ _ _

____Sandor had some remorse, initially, when he had returned to their chambers after having dealt with the fool. The man had spilled more than just word of his meetings with Sansa, but also went so far as to claim that it was littlefinger who had put him to their rendezvous._ _ _ _

____They were words which may have held little merit to most when spit from the lips of a dying man, and yet... He could not dismiss them so easily as that, and felt that mayhap some truth may yet lay in the mans words. Sandor thought to the night before, when He had been summoned before the King where the boy had sat dining with his small council._ _ _ _

____\-----_ _ _ _

____The boy King had been in a mirthful state, and laughed heartily, his dinner laying yet untouched before him. "So the rumors are true then, Dog? Finally managed to pull yourself out of your cups long enough to bed your lady wife. See that you keep after it. I will have children of my own soon, and I would think that they would need Dogs of their own to mind them."_ _ _ _

____The boy laughed again. His small council, who had joined the King in dinning, not finding the jest to be as humorous. Sandor stood still, waiting for Joffery to be finished so that the attention would be off of him, and the council might return their feast and to matters more important to the crown. Sandor disliked the notice that was being laid on him for having bedded his wife, although, he should have realized this was coming. He liked even less the look of disdain he caught Littlefinger give him when he had entered the room at the King's summons._ _ _ _

____It was no secret that Baelish had felt strongly for the little birds mother, and less secret, at least where Sandor was concerned, that the man had seemingly transferred at least some of those feelings to Sansa. _I'll have to watch my back, where that one is concerned._ _ _ _ _

____\----_ _ _ _

_____More truth than I would like, if judging by the look on Littlefinger's face._ Sandor thought, and found himself tightening his arms around Sansa._ _ _ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delivered as promised!!

Sansa stirred in her sleep at his touch, and rested her head gently upon his chest. Her arm wrapping tightly around his middle. She sighed contentedly, clutching him unconsciously as she woke. As her senses came to her, she realized that she held him, and that his arms were wrapped about her, she started suddenly, and pulled herself away. 

"My Lord?" She ventured gently, her voice thick with sleep. "You are still abed, I'd not thought..."

"Am I not allowed to linger in my own bed and hold my wife?"

Sansa blushed furiously and realized she was yet undressed from their lovemaking the previous night. While being intimate with him in the darkness of night had quickly become comfortable, the same ease had not quite extended to daylight hours. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself, and somehow lost her balance in the tangle falling against him. Sandor caught her easily and pulled her sheet away. 

"I'd not have you hide yourself from me, Sansa. The chamber is yet warm, and I would feel you beside me a little longer." He did not look at her as he spoke, and Sansa sensed a hint of longing and sadness in his voice. After considering a moment, She lowered herself to him, and rested her head upon his shoulder. 

"Has something happened, husband?" She asked tentatively. 

He glanced down at her, his features softening. "Nothing that you should concern yourself with Little Bird." His grip tightened about her again as he tilted his head down, planting a gentle kiss upon the top of Sansa's head. She felt herself shiver at the touch. 

"I would hear your musings, If I could." She whispered to his chest. "My Lady mother often lent an ear, as well as council to my Lord father. I should do the same for you if you'd let me." 

Her words were met with a silence that seemed to stretch out at length. Sandor had never been verbose, and Sansa wondered whether she had overstepped and asked something of him he would not be able to give. Finally, he shifted. Sansa looked up from where she had begun absentmindedly begun tracing her fingers across his chest. He seemed to be mulling over his words, choosing how to proceed. At long last, he broke the silence. 

"I have said nothing of it, but I have cause to think the voice you heard in the Godswood was yet a puppet to anthers cause. Another who was publicly called to leave the city without notice last night." Here he paused, his voice sinking lower when he began again. "Although you may feel as if you have been cast aside, and your part in this game of thrones having come near its conclusion after having been joined with me... I would think that there are some who would still use you to further their own cause. Neither lions, nor flowers, nor even dragons, little bird. There may yet be another player who has thus far gone unannounced." 

Sansa felt herself shiver again, although this time it was not Sandor's touch which had elicited the sensation. She drew herself closer to him, to fight the chill, and he responded in kind by pulling her even tighter to him. It was there she remained, feeling safe as she could in the cradle of his arms until the chamber maids came to help ready them for the King's wedding day brunch. 

\-----------

The Queen's ballroom was packed as the wedding brunch carried on around them. The extravagant food tasting like ash in her mouth as Sansa tried not to dwell on what Sandor had told her. Even Moon Boy dancing around them, and the musicians playing lively tunes could do nothing to distract her. Even so, the surrounding frivolity only further illuminated, at least to Sansa, the glaring absence of Ser Dontos. Sansa finally gave up on trying to think of other things and instead pondered on who might seek to gain something by using her. 

Sandor had refused to say more, and she had sensed he already felt as though he had said too much. _"Neither lions, nor flowers, nor even dragons"_ he had said. Who then remained who might gain from using her? Sansa began to nibble at the Dornish peppers and eggs on her plate out of curiosity, but found herself reaching for her glass to quench the burning in her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sandor had noticed. He did not smile at her, but she had gotten better at reading him and could tell he'd found it amusing. 

_Once the wedding is over, we'll leave Kings Landing._ Sansa decided, turning her eyes back to her plate. _They can't keep us here, we'll go far away and start anew._ Sansa couldn't say when it had turned from just her, to them, but she couldn't say she minded. 

\--------

Sandor watched bemusedly as Sansa choked on the Dornish peppers. He could have told her that she wouldn't like them, but far be it for him to tell her what she could or couldn't do. He took another draft from his mug of ale, and scanned the ballroom. Littlefinger had indeed fled the city, and Sandor decided it left him just as ill at ease as if the rat where still here. 

Sandor had never given much thought to where he might end up. Buried and long forgotten after he had killed his last, were he that lucky. _More than like to die in battle for a cause not mine own. _He took another drink and hazarded a glance at Sansa. He wasn't sure what she was thinking, but the girl had almost a happy expression on her face. _Lost in a song, no doubt._ He had wanted to open her eyes to the world, so that she could see what she truly faced and have some chance of surviving it. Only now... __

__Sandor had been educated as well as any Lord's son, before becoming a squire. However schemes and plots where not where his strength lay. Littlefinger had been plotting to take Sansa away, but to what end? _I may be just a hateful killer after all._ Sandor thought bitterly, swirling what was left of his beer in the bottom of his mug. _Only now I have someone besides myself to care for... Haven't I?__ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates! I just did a really massive move to a new city/country and i've been job hunting. O_o I'm thinking that this is going to wrap up in the next few chapters... Things are starting to come together! 
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who has been reading and commenting!

Sansa couldn't help but notice that Sandor stayed silent throughout the whole of the King's brunch, until it was time to present their gift. Sandor had commissioned a matching pair of daggers for the king, at her behest, as a gift fitting their station as representatives from one of the five major houses. While Joffery had admired the simple weapons, he exclaimed that he should like a litter of puppies far better, and had asked if progress was being made to that end. 

Sansa had blushed furiously at that, and was glad to have Joffery move on to his uncles present of a very large book to distract him. Apparently the gift was not to his liking as Joffery had never been one with words. Joffery's grandfather, Tywin, presented Joffery with a gift next. It was a striking new blade, which Joffery decided to name widows wail, and proceeded to use the sword to cleave his uncles gift in two. Sansa felt her breath catch as the glimmering steal sliced easily through the tome. Valyrian steal. Although she was not an authority on weapons, Sansa knew that she could recognize that one anywhere. _Ice... What have they done to my father's sword?_ She felt her breath hitch in her chest. _Ice... It belongs to the lord of Winterfell. By rights, Sandor should wield it now._ Sansa found herself wondering if her father might have grown to approve of Sandor. He was not the man she had inititially thought him to be, not the man that any of them had thought him to be.

The rest of the brunch and the King and Queen's wedding ceremony which followed passed as if in a dream for Sansa. As the wedding proceeded, She thought fleetingly back to her own wedding, and the turn of events that brought her to be here watching the girl who should be her marry the King. _I would not have it another way._ She though grimly, watching Margaery float past clad in ivory silk and Myrish lace. If Sansa was being honest with herself, She felt sorry for Margaery. The cursed Queen whose first husband was murdered, and who was committing the rest of her life to living with a monster like Joffery. _Even Prince Oberyn thinks him derranged. _she mused. Sansa found herself drawing closer to Sandor, who seemed bored by the whole proceedings.__

__They had spent little time together over the last week, but she could not deny the sudden and strong connection that laced the two of them together. Sansa wondered if she could not fall in love with him. He glanced down at her briefly, and looked away again, ever maintaining his taciturn repose. There was something in his eyes though, when he'd glanced at her. It was a minuscule thing, easy to miss, but it meant the world to Sansa at that moment._ _

__\------_ _

__Things were coming to a head, here in Kings Landing, and quickly. Sandor only wished that he had put things together sooner. Littlefinger was a clever man. If he were to drive Sansa into his arms, he would do so when all notice was elsewhere, and when she would be afraid to turn elsewhere. It was the same as a sword-fight really, when it came down to it. You have to be aware of all those fighting around you, not just the man whose blade meets your own. You have to keep an eye on which soldiers are winning what fights, who might be your next opponent, and where to move to put yourself in the best offensive and defensive position._ _

__Sandor found himself wishing he'd taken a closer look at the hair-net that Sansa had been given before casting it aside. There lay the clue that was missing. There was something about it, for why give it to her? Why grace the lady with some gaudy trinket? It had to be a sign of sorts, a message to whoever else was involved. Sandor reached up to help Sansa climb down from their liter. It had taken forever for them to arrive back at the palace from the sept, and even longer still as they began to make their way through the throng to their chambers so that they might change for the feast. Sandor didn't care to change, but Sansa had insisted, saying it was only proper. Being a Lord held many empty courtesies, and Sandor loathed all of them._ _

__"Oh, there is Lady Olenna." Sansa exclaimed. Sandor followed her gaze to see the old woman teetering about the courtyard, greeting guests. "She was ever so kind to me yesterday, her and Margaery both. Well, after a fashion at least."_ _

__"What do you mean, Little Bird?"_ _

__"Well, they had originally hoped that I might be married to Wilas..."_ _

__"...And they chastised you for giving yourself to the Kings dog?" He sneered. Sansa blushed prettily, she did everything prettily._ _

__"They had hoped that I might, hold myself from you. So that they might annul our union once Margaery was Queen." Sansa whispered finally, before continuing. "But I would not have let them. I am pleased enough to be with you, now. Although... there was a certain appeal to being able to leave Kings Landing. I've never seen Highgarden."_ _

__Sandor snorted derisively at that. "They meant to marry you to the heir to Highgarden then." He mused, pieces falling into place in his mind. "More like they meant to secure the North through your children. You're the heir now you know. Now that your brothers have all fallen, and the bastard has sworn himself to the watch."_ _

__"I'd not thought of that." Sansa murmured, and Sandor watched as she frowned. "Lady Magaery asked me about my gown for the wedding... She recommended I wear something with Amethysts, to complement my hair."_ _

__Sandor choked at that, as Lady Olenna suddenly appeared not far in front of them from within the crowd. As she drew closer Sansa continued, quietly, her voice sounding hollow with realization. "The hair-net Ser Dontos gave me was laid with Amethysts."_ _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible person for having left this so long and I am so sorry. I ended up writing myself into a bit of a corner and have spent the last few months raking my brain for where to take things. (this is what happens when you turn a supposed to be smutty one-shot into an actual fic without really planning things out... lol)
> 
> Good news is, after about seven throw away versions of where the story would go I finally turned off my brain and listened to my characters and together we figured it out! be prepared for the writing to resume! (unless I get writers block again... O_o)

Sansa watched as Sandor took his leave of her. After they had spoken with lady Oleanna and returned to their rooms to change for the feast Sandor had informed Sansa that she would not be joining him. He explained that he would tell any who asked of her whereabouts that she had taken ill. If they pressed, he would say that they thought her to be with child and after the wedding Sansa had become tired and they did not wish to upset her delicate condition. It would be considered extremely sudden, considering how recently they had become wed, but not unheard of for such suspicions to arise so soon. 

Sandor had asked Sansa to send the servants away as soon as she might, and begin to set aside what might be useful on their journey. For the King had acquiesed to their request to go from the city to Clegane Keep for a short respite in order to celebrate their wedding, and set the place to rights. Sansa had thought it an odd request, but was none the less not sorry to be missing the festivities. She did not envy Margaery, and even less so wished to be around Joffery and see what cruelties he had allotted for his amusement. 

As she began to lay things upon the bed, the Amethyst hairnet fell from a scarf. Sansa knelt to pick it up. It must have gotten caught in the scarf and been forgotten there the night she returned from the Godswood. _the night Sandor left to save my honor... The night we truly became husband and wife._ Sansa had thought his reaction at the time had been far too harsh. It was merely a trinket and she didn't see how so small a gesture was any cause for panic. True, as she now saw there were too many coincidences for the hairnet to be completely disregarded... but to what end? Of course there was some sort of connection between Ser Dontos telling her it was a thing of luck that would save her and lady Oleanna ensuring that she wore "something with amethysts". Could the two be in each others confidences? Had this something to do with lady Oleanna having wanted to marry Sansa to Highgarden? It would seem that the entirety of the Red Keep knew that the Hound had taken his wife's virtue, so there was no hope of them nullifying the marriage. Their only hope to still seek Sansa's claim was to remarry her to Wilas after she was widowed. 

Sansa dropped the hairnet on the bed, the pieces of the puzzle seemingly starting to fall into place. Perhaps Sandor had realized this sooner and that is why he bid her to stay behind today and miss the wedding feast. If Lady Oleanna had meant for her to wear the hair net as some kind of sign to mark them, as if they would be hard to spot... Or mayhap the hairnet was a payment of sorts for a service. Someone would come upon her and her Lord Husband either on their way too or from the Kings Wedding feast, and there they would attack. The act would leave her husband dead, her a widow, and the assailant handsomely rewarded his services. _as if anyone could best Sandor in combat _sansa thought, only to realize that Sandor would not be armed at the wedding. A dagger maybe, but as a guest he would be required to leave his arms aside, especially after what had happened to her brother and his banner-men. Sansa shuddered at the thought and glanced to where his sword now lay, here in their chambers away from his hand. Sansa went to it, and touched the intricate carving upon it's hilt. She had never paid much mind to it, but now she felt a chill run through her at it suddenly being her and not with Sandor should he need it. Sansa searched her memories, seeking clues that might fill in the gaps for her as to what was happening.__

__Lady Oleanna had said when she happened upon her and Sandor in the crowd earlier that she was off to Highgarden on the morrow. The woman had mentioned that Sansa would be a lovely bit of company for her now that Margaery and her ladies were gone. Sansa's breath caught in her throat. _She would have me mourn my husbands death in her company, and marry me off to Wilas as soon as a moment presented itself._ Sansa reasoned. She shook her head, trying to make herself see sense and fighting to rise above the sense of panic that now fought to consume her. _They would have no cause to kill Sandor since I am not with him. They would not risk a deed such as that without their guarantee of pay resting delicately upon my head._ Sansa left the sword where it lay, and in an attempt to force the dark thoughts from her head began to pack again, but this time with a more defined purpose. She would send for Sandor, and they would leave tonight. No procession would accompany them, it wouldn't be safe. _We will be away from here... We shall leave, and never come back and they shall send our belongings on after us.__ _

__\-----------------------_ _

__Sandor sneered into his cup, finding the display before him to be in great distaste. There were a pair of dwarfs riding about upon a pig and dog playing at jousting. _This is made to mock the Imp._ Sandor thought, his eyes falling to the table where Lord Tyrion sat. The dwarf was himself heavy into the cups, it seemed to be the thing tonight. Anyone with anything to wager was trying their best to be forgotten in the background of the King's wedding feast, and anyone who sought to curry favor laughed louder than they ought. _ _

__Joffery himself was laughing riotously at the spectacle, and Sandor could not help but hope that some ill befell the boy before he realized the extent of his own power and became truly the monster he was destined to be. The King had not taken well to Sansa's Absence, and his Lady wife even seemed beyond distraught. Her reaction only further strengthen Sandor's fears that Margaery had something planned, and when she caught her grandmother's eye, albeit briefly his thoughts were confirmed. _but to what end... and how is Littlefinger involved in all of this? What does he stand to gain from it?_ _ _

__"Your Lady wife requests your presence Ser." A voice cut in, interrupting his thoughts. Sandor glanced up to see a servant nervously standing, waiting for dismissal. Sandor nodded at the boy, and watched as relief flooded his face as he turned to flee. Sandor hoped that nothing was amiss. He had set Sansa to packing, telling her that they had received permission from the King to go to his families keep. No such permission had been granted, but Sandor didn't see any reason to tell her such. They would away in the night, and he would take her north. _As far North as possible, to the Wall if needs be... the Little Bird has a brother there. We may be able to seek refuge._ Sandor drained his glass and stood. He hazarded a glance at the King, to see if his departure would be noticed, only to see a far different sight unfolding before him. A loud scream punctuate the air and all else fell still, as the King began to clutch at his throat._ _


	8. Chapter 8

The ruckus in the halls had caught Sansa's notice not long after she had sent a servant to fetch her husband. There had been screams coming from the window, and the distant sound of steel being drawn. She felt her heart began to race, and wondered what might have happened. The wedding reception would still be on, the bedding not yet have taken place. Sansa had almost thought to venture out in search of answers, but in the end thought better of it and made to bolt the door. 

Sandor burst through before she could reach it, slamming the door in his wake, not bothering to lock it. His face a mask of fury and hurt. Sansa had felt her heart stop in fear at his hasty entrance, not knowing what would drive him forth so, and found herself backing away. He spared her not a word but began with a swiftness of purpose to strap himself into his armor. They had become husband and wife in truth, yes, but they still knew very little of each other. It had been little more than a fortnight since they had wed, and Sansa still feared her husbands rage. It was a fearsome thing. _I must be brave._

"Sandor, what has happened?" Sansa asked, her voice not quite as strong as she would have wished. It sounded meek, and frightened, and unsure. Sansa chastised herself for it, but still she summoned the courage to approach him. Sansa had not seen Sandor in a rage such as this since before they had been wed, and she found herself afraid of how he might react to her in his current state. Sandor spun round his eyes wildly assessing the room, but barely taking note of her in it. 

"The king has died, little bird." He all but growled at her. "We must away, before someone seeks to black our hands." 

_To Black our hands?"_ Sansa thought, as he turned from her to take up another bit of armor. 

"Joffery? Joffery has died?"

"Joffery was murdered, little bird." He said, his hands becoming unsure at their task.

"Murdered? But how... We had nothing to do with this!" Sansa reached to take his arm, to have him face her. "Sandor... We--"

"The Queen Regent is mad with grief. She will not see reason here, and you've not her favor."

"I haven't done anything my Lord... Surely she cannot presume--" 

"She will see specters and plots where there are none, and find menace where she may. It is not truth she seeks, but vengeance." Sandor answered, finally stilling his actions. He paused half in his armor. "I've not my squire little bird." he said flatly. 

It took her a moment to realize that he was in need of assistance with his armor. Sansa set to work to help him. She had not done it before, but with his aid the task was soon finished. Although she knew it was not the time for it, Sandor's fingers ghosting across her own as they made short work of the task made her heart race faster. As did him _almost_ asking for her aid. 

"Are you to arms then?" Sansa asked, backing away as the task was finished. 

"No. Steel and arms are no use against bane."

"I don't understand. Bane?"

"Aye, bane. Poisons."

"Poison?.." 

Sandor nodded glumly, and finished fastening his scabbard. "You really are a daft little bird aren't you? It could have been naught else but that. A woman's weapon. The queen has set her sights on the Imp, but they'll not linger there long. If you wish to keep that pretty little head where its set..." 

There was a knock at the door. 

\-----------------------------

Sandor saw Sansa flinch at the sound, and instinct made him move to shield her from it. A moment passed, with naught but the sound of their breathing heard, there was another knock. It was a gentle sort of tap, enough to startle, but not enough to offend. If someone had come to seize them, they would have banged upon the door. Sandor steeled himself and stepped forward, one hand drawing a dagger out of its sheath. He glanced back at Sansa and motioned for her to hide. She slipped out towards the terrace, and him amongst the heavy drapes. 

Sandor opened the door, and would not have guessed at who stood there. It was the eunuch. The man stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. 

"Quite a feast, was it not?" Varys asked, glancing about the room. "Where is your little wife? I heard she was in a delicate way and thought I might pay my congratulations."

"The King is not yet cold and you come to congratulate my wife on being fucked?" Sandor spat. 

Varys did not look amused, but instead invited himself to sit at the table where Sandor and Sansa took their meals. The fat man gestured to Sandor to sit opposite him, and waited. Under normal circumstances, Sandor would have thrown the man out and thought nothing else of it. _Under normal circumstances he would not be here, I would not be here, and the little bird would not be my wife._ Sandor sat, and poured himself a glass of sour red. The liquid sloshed into the glass, a few splashes dotting the table. He did not offer any to his _guest_

"Say what you will and be gone, I've not got time--"

"You will make time, my Lord." Varys stated firmly, cutting him off. "I hear Maiden Pool is rather nice this time of year, you should take your honeymoon there. The distance is shorter, and will be far more kind to Lady Sansa in her current _condition_. If the rumors are to be believed that is."

"Such friendly advice, eunich. And at what cost?" 

Varys glanced towards the window, a slight breeze ruffled the curtains, and the bells began to toll.

"I've always hated the bells. They ring for horror. A dead king... A wedding."

"Make your point." Sandor growled, his patience running short. 

"Leave on the morrow, the smaller your household the better."

"You dance nimbly for so large a man."

"And you play at Lordliness as though you were born to it. An escort will find you." 

Sandor drained his cup, he hated riddles and he hated the Eunich more than that.

"If we make for the Westerlands?"

"A man is free to choose his own path, my Lord." Varys said, rising to his feet. He paused, and hazarded a glance to the curtains where Sansa hid. "Tell Lady Sansa, I wish her well. Such a refined young Lady, she may yet find use for her gifts."


	9. Chapter 9

They did not leave the next day. Or the day following. Sansa was beside herself, and fret as she might Sandor wouldn't so much as acknowledge her. They had been confined to their rooms as had many of the _nobles_. As many times as Sansa packed and repacked their things, pairing them down to the essentials, she could not make herself calm. The spider's words echoed in her head searching for meaning, and she longed to go over them with Sandor. He would have none of it. The first day they had been locked inside, he was filled with a violent rage at being treated "As though he was some simpering Lord". Sansa had done her best to stay out of his way for He had broken many things that day, and had fallen into an even fowler mood that night drinking until he slumped in his chair. 

Sansa had struggled to help him out of his clothes and into the bed then, _doing her wifely duty_ as he so cruelly remarked before he passed out on top of the sheets. He never hurt her though, and when she woke briefly in the small hours of the morning he had curled himself around her possessively. He had stayed abed long into the afternoon on the second day. Eating what the servants had brought and refusing still to discuss the spiders words with Sansa. She felt ill, and herself declined to eat instead taking in the air on the terrace and looking at what maps she might of Westeros wondering what Lord Varys game might be.   
"Maiden Pool is nice this time of year... an escort will find you... " _What did he mean by that?_ True Maiden Pool was closer to Kings Landing, though far enough away they would be out of reach should the city fall under siege again. It was far from Casterly Rock, which was also a boon, for Sansa did not relish the thought of being so close to so many Lannisters after having only just escaped them. _It is also a port city..._ Sansa wished Sandor would speak to her, alas he seemed so consumed by his own thoughts that it did not seem possible. He had shared with her, once. While they lay in each others arms in bed... She supposed it was not so much for her to have hoped they might continue to keep each others confidences, however having both been on their own for so long keeping to oneself was a habit hard to break. 

That night they were finally released from their rooms, the threat having been deemed gone. Lord Tyrion had been charged with Kingslaying and Kinslaying, and his trial was to be held the following day. Sandor called immediately for his squire and for one of Sansa's maids, the dark one Shae was the first to arrive, and Sandor set them to preparing a cart that might carry their necessary supplies. He planned for them to leave that night, claiming once again Sansa's health as their reasons. _I wouldn't know what I would do if I were in the condition they all claim me to be in._ Sansa thought, as Shae helped her pack the last of their things. Sansa reasoned that Sandor had shown her gentleness, and therefore could not be such a bad father. It wasn't that which concerned her. It was the prospect of having to manage a babe in such a tumultuous situation. The seven kingdoms were still at war, after all. And she had no family to speak of. _Nor does he... We are our own family now._

\----

Sandor Clegane did not enjoy being a pawn. He enjoyed being cloistered far less. It reminded him of when he was a boy and was confined to bed after his brother had burned him. Of the months following the incident when he was confined to his room less he risk infection. It was not a happy memory, and it drove him to react poorly to their situation. The little bird had been afraid of his rage then, she had flitted away into corners and shadows and done her best to remain small and quiet and unobtrusive, which only enraged him further. The maesters had tiptoed around him then too, as had the maids, as had his father. 

_She could not know that._ he had reasoned, and feeling ashamed he had fallen into his cups. He vaguely remembered her coming to him then, when he was so drunk he couldn't stand, and helping him. Sansa gently stripped him of his clothes, wiped his brow and did what she could to get him to the bed. Sandor thought she might leave him then, and take her rest far away on the divan or mayhap on one of the low benches on the terrace, but she had not. He had slept fitfully, and woke in the night with an ache in his head and his body covered in a fine sweat. Yet there she was beside him, laying on top of the sheets as he was. Sansa was in her sleeping frock, and had her long red hair twisted into a braid and splayed out across the pillows. 

Sandor had wrapped his fingers in its tips, relishing in the hairs color. Thinking of what a kind soul she was, to have put up with him, to have seen to him, and to now lay beside him. With no promise of recompense. _I have done wrong by you again, little bird._ He drew her into his arms then, pulling her back tight to his chest. Feeling the curves of her body and how well they fit to his own. He lost himself in her scent, and fell finally into a dreamless sleep. 

He slept late into the day, and watched from the bed feeling helpless as Sansa flitted about. They did not speak of what happened, yet he felt a fool for having behaved so. He could see that she wished to speak of what the spider had said, but some things are better left discussed within castle walls. There was one thing though, that struck him. He knew the spider must have had some design on them. To have risked coming to them at all, and so boldly, spoke only to the desperate nature of the situation. It was not lost on Sandor what all the man had risked. _He is not so evil as some, but he would see the realm prosper, rather than watch it burn. Yet where do we fit? No not me, her._ Sandor was not so foolish as to think that the eunuch had need of him. It was the little bird that man sought. With her families name and her graces. _"Such a refined young lady, tell lady Sansa she may yet find use of her gifts."_

Sandor had seen to it they left the city that night, with only his squire and one of Sansa's maids to attend them. Yet even as they road forth to the city gates, he on his warhorse and Sansa on a filly to his side, he had yet to make up his mind which way they would go. West, to where the Lannisters could still reach them. Or north, to the coast and Maiden Pool, where the Master of whispers would see them go. He knew what waited for them in the west, and as he watched Sansa guide her horse carefully down the road he knew he could not risk her there. The question was, could what lay to the north be any better?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter totally progresses the plot. No seriously. I mean it. Ok, not really. Lets just say while writing this I felt like the principle in 10 things I hate about you... Take from that what you will ;)

Her thighs ached from the long hours spent atop her filly. They chaffed terribly, even though they had only ridden for two days. The last time Sansa had ridden a horse, it was upon the Kings Road. She had been accompanying her lord father and his household as he traveled south with King Robert to be his new hand. So much had happened since Robert Baratheon had been king, and Sansa almost longed for those days, for youth and innocence and a country at peace. It hadn't been at peace though, not really. Only holding it's breath.   
This time, instead of traveling to Kings landing, they were riding away from it. With every aching hour they put more and more land between themselves and the stink, and treachery of that vile city. After the first day of riding, Sansa had approached Sandor as he, his squire and her ladies maid Shae had made camp. They had pushed hard, riding from the moment they left the city, through the night and on again through the next day. Sansa had fought to stay awake, her head heavy and her legs threatening to lose their hold on her horse. Her hands had been raw and blistered from the reins, and when they had paused briefly that afternoon Shae had seen fit to wrap them so that the blisters might not burst. Shae had been riding on the wagon, and Sansa longed to join her. Weak and weary, Sansa had forced herself up from the fireside to where Sandor was seeing to their tent. It hurt to sit as much as it did to stand, but she made it to his side and asked if on the 'morrow she might ride on the wagon.   
Sandor had not stilled his task while she entreated him, and when she finished, he dismissed her without so much as a reply. That morning, Sandor had seen her horse saddled and helped her up into it with a firm hand. Although she felt the sting of tears building, Sansa did not let them fall. She took the reins in hand, and followed her husband as he lead them on. So focused was she on her pain, and the injustice of her request not so much as having been denied but dismissed so easily, that Sansa did not realize that the sun had begun to sink low.  
It was then they stopped to make camp. Shae had busied herself at the fire, bringing a pot of soup to boil. Sandor's squire sat polishing the man's armor, and Sandor watched Sansa with heavy eyes. She had come to know that look, but as of now she wasn't keen to be a part of the actions that they spoke of. 

"Fetch me when the food is ready." She said to Shae, and standing as tall as she could in spite of the ache, Sansa went into the tent.   
Her _husband_ had decided it was not prudent to unpack the whole of their belongings each night so that she might dwell in luxury. It had only been after some pleading the first night that Sansa had gotten him to acquiesce to setting up the tent at all. Their bed sat to the side, and a thick rug covered the earthen floor. That was all. He had not even seen to let her have her trunk brought in, and instead had seen to it that Shae fetch what was needed from the wagon each night and morning. Shae had slept in the wagon herself, having made a bed amongst the supplies. And while Shae had brushed Sansa's hair that first morning, she had joked that the turnips and carrots saw fit to whisper in the night and kept her awake. Sansa could tell it was a forced humor though. Her handmaiden had been hiding something from her, besides the fact that she was hardly a true handmaiden, Sansa wished they might be close enough so that the Lorathi woman might share with her. She wished anyone would talk to her. As alone as she had felt in Kings Landing, she felt even more so now, as Sandor's mood had not improved since they had left the city. Even now as it seemed that they had turned from their initial direction to the west where lay Casterly Rock, to the North East.   
She could not say what may have changed Sandor's mind. Or even if it had changed. They had ridden long and hard to the east that first day, as if making a show of it for some unknown watcher on the wall. She hadn't even noticed they had changed direction until camp was made this night and she saw that the path they had come in had sat in the direction of the shadows cast down upon them from the setting sun. Sansa noticed that her nightshift had been set upon the bed. It's delicate lace edges a stark contrast against against the heavy furs of their bed. _I may as well ready myself for bed now_ Sansa thought, and began to loose the ties on her dress. Judging by the pace Sandor had been setting, she would not get much sleep this night. And as much as her belly ached with hunger, its longing for sleep was stronger. She was down to her underthings when she heard someone enter through the tent flap, letting it fall heavily behind them. 

"Just sent it where you might, and help me fold my dress." She said. 

"Do I look like a bloody handmaiden?" her husbands voice answered. 

Sansa turned to watch as he set their food on the bench and approached her slowly. That same look darkening his eyes. She shivered in the chill of his gaze, and felt her skin rise up in goosebumps. Sandor looked as though he were approaching some quarry, and as Sansa backed up and knocked into the bed she was helpless to escape him. He was upon her then, pressing his body flush to hers and his hands making short work of her underthings. His mouth found hers and stole away her breath and any protests she might utter at him. Sansa _wanted_ to push him away. It had been some time since they had lain together, and this was hardly the place. With only the walls of their tent between them and their party, with nothing but the woods about them... It was hardly proper. Besides that, Sansa was mad at him. Mad at him for not speaking to her, and for keeping her at arms length. Even madder still for forcing her upon her horse when she was clearly to exhausted to ride on.  
Sandor broke the kiss then knocking her gently down onto the bed, and stepped back to divest himself of his clothes. Sansa wanted to turn from him, but the gentle light from her candle flashed across his body, and she found that despite the fact that her mind wanted to be petty and push him away as he had her, her body craved him. She lusted for him. For the warmth of his arms and the strength of his touch. She felt herself stir as his tunic fell to the ground and the hard expanse of his chest was revealed to her, and as his trousers sank to the floor and he stood before her exposed Sansa knew that she could not deny him. 

\-----

Sandor knew that Sansa was mad at him for not letting her ride in the wagon. He knew she resented him for speaking so little to her of their plans. He needn't have been observant to discover that fact either, for she had stared daggers at the back of his head for the whole of their ride. It was for the best this way. His squire had been with him for many years, and the maid seemed competant enough... but should anything happen he had wanted Sansa to be able to take flight. Something that could not be easily accomplished if she were to have to loose her horse from the wagon before doing so. He wanted to be able to focus on slaying any man who might cross them without having to worry about her. _damn me, how I fret about her like some septa and her charge._ he had cursed himself all day for it.   
As they had sat across from each other at the fire he had watched her screw up her face in thought. She had bite when she wanted, and it amused him. The setting sun and the firelight had cast her in an ethereal glow and more than amusement then, he felt a stirring in his groin. It had been too long since he had taken his little bird in his arms. It was then He took the food her handmaid intended for her, told the two servants to make themselves busy, and entered the tent. 

\----

 

Sansa propped herself up on her elbows and ever so slightly parted her legs before him. She would see him beg for her forgiveness, she decided then. And when his eyes sank ever so briefly from her own to the sight presented before him he did not look repentant. Instead, he grinned and fell upon her as a starving man would a feast. Although, not in the way she would have expected. Sandor cupped her buttocks with his hands, and with a firm grip pulled her towards the edge of the bed. The furs beneath her twisting and pulling awkwardly from the force, and Sansa lost her balance falling back against the mattress. She heard Sandor chuckle to himself, and felt a rough finger trace down her apex. It worked against her folds, and the divine spot in between them. Sansa watched him, over the peaks and valleys of her pale body, as he kneeled before her eyes fixated solely on his task.   
His fingers caressed her gently at first, rubbing up and down that soft space between her thighs, spreading the wetness they found there. He took his other hand and reached inside her then, sticking first one then two fingers into her wetness. Sansa caught her breath, her head falling back and finding a place amongst the furs. His fingers thrust in and out making a wet sound in the quiet of their tent, they curled back in against her core each time. Touching some unknown spot inside of her and drawing a cry of shock from her lips. She forced herself up to watch him then, confusion and lust gracing her features, and a wicked grin gracing his. His mouth found her flesh then as well, and as his fingers plunged again inside her his tongue and lips found that bit of flesh nestled amongst her folds and lavished attention upon it. Sansa's muscles began to constrict and loose against her will, her body alternating between tense and lax as the sensations built. As if he felt it, as if he knew and was stirred on by her reactions Sandor hastened his efforts, the friction of his hands welcome.   
Sansa felt herself arch and her breath stop, her hands flying from the furs of their own accord and locking themselves in Sandor's hair. She clutched at his raven colored locks, fingers scratching at his skull in her fervor. He growled in submission and pressed his face more fully to her. His tongue increasing its efforts and his hands quickening. Sansa was barely conscious of what she was doing. All she knew is she needed _more_.   
Shaking and shy of breath Sansa gasped and cried out, and just as quickly her husband was off the floor and climbing upon her. His weight pressing her into the bed, and his manhood thick and heavy against her sliding up and down against her engorged folds. Her breath came out as a hiss as skin rubbed against sensitive skin, his lips found hers and pressed down hard against them. His tongue finding hers and his moans matching her own. One of Sansa's hands slipped down from its hold on his hair and she felt devilish as it ran the length of his muscled back, sliding against his skin which was slick with sweat, and coming to rest upon his firm bottom. He growled again then as she, with all the strength she could muster pulled him to her. Begging him to fill the void he had created within her. It would seem that it was not Sandor who would plead for forgiveness, but Sansa who would beg for release. He chuckled at her then, and as he pressed himself inside her Sansa forgot about her aches and her fatigue. Forgot that she was mad at Sandor for pushing her so hard. Forgot everything but her and him, and this moment when they were one. She gasped as he drew himself out fully, before thrusting into her again and again and again. His body beginning to tense and shake, and his breath becoming ragged enough to match her own.  
The soup was long cold by the time Sansa ate, and she fell asleep that night coiled tightly around her husband, a wholly different ache filling her muscles.


	11. Chapter 11

The breeze rustled the walls of the tent, stirring Sansa in her sleep. She stretched her limbs and twisted away from the chill, taking the blankets with her.As she turned, the blankets fell away from Sandor and followed her as she curled herself into a ball, leaving his torso exposed to the chilly predawn air. The cold woke him, and in the haze of sleep he noted that not only had she seen fit to steal all of his blankets, but the furs had also gathered in a pile next to her on the floor. The heaps and valleys of brown and grey barely visible in the darkness.  
The events of the past few days flooded back to him as if carried to shore upon a wave. A better man would have gone to his wife and said his piece. Would have told her of their peril, and how he did not have all the answers. That while the thought of turning westward turned his stomach, the thought of going north east also set him ill at ease. But Sandor was not a good man. He had never claimed to be, and while he may be a better fate than some other husband, no kind words would change who he was. A body and mind trained for killing and for governing men on a battlefield was no expert at lordly games and treachery. Tywin Lannister was a just man, little as he would ever admit that fact to Sansa. The man had lived a hard life, and had been forced into a hard position at a young age. Sandor commended his ability to have taken house Lannister from the joke it was then, to what it was today, but that did not mean Sandor trusted the man. Sandor trusted no one, not even Sansa.  
He could not however deny the idiocy of turning west, which is why after they had set pace in that direction for some time, he had turned them north east. It did not mean that he meant to enter into whatever game the spider was playing, but more options lay to the north. So long as they stayed clear of outlaws and made the city in good time they had the grace of time. Their "honeymoon" as it were bought them at least a month free of suspicions, and free of any obligation to return to the capital.  
A soft moan broke from the lips of the woman beside him, as Sansa curled ever deeper within the sheets. Time and time again he gave her reason to hate him, and to leave him to himself but Sansa always stayed. She was a delicate thing, and while smarter and more cunning than she knew, Sandor would not put it past her to leave him for the loving arms of whatever part of her family remained given the chance. _She fools herself into thinking she is fond of me._ he reasoned. With that Sandor turned and buried his face in the soft pillow, willing himself to go back to sleep and to leave the little bird to whatever pleasant dreams had found her. But the chill was too much, and instinct as much as something deeper drove him to stretch out his arms and draw the little bird, and her blankets, back to him. He found warmth there and curled himself around her, tucking his face into the crook of her neck and taking in the sent of her hair. Mostly, it smelled of dust and sunlight from their travels however when he inhaled deeply there was the lingering sent of lavender. It soothed him. The breath which had been tucked deep within his chest by worry being let loose and with it a tightness of his heart. 

"What wakes you?" A soft voice, thick with sleep purred next to him. A gentle hand came to rest on his head, her fingers threading themselves delicately through his hair. The calming motion continued for sometime, Sandor remaining speechless and Sansa not pressing. He curled his arms tighter around her, one absentmindedly grazing the curve of her breast and the other coming to rest across the plain of her stomach. She had filled out since they had married. Whether it was because she was still developing the body of a woman, or because she had of late become as hungry as the wolf on her sigil he couldn't say. But the curves of her body fit well in his hands, and even more so against his body.

"You hold me as if you are clinging to life." She murmured finally, and she turned in his grasp so that she might face him. Sandor loosed his grip upon her and brought his arms to rest on her bottom. She giggled, but only slightly, and twisted up to kiss him gently. Her lips were soft. Finding his own with ease as though they had a thousand lifetimes of practice. They lazily continued thus, until Sandor broke away, again burying his head upon the pillow. 

\----

His voice came out muffled, and hoarse. "I would not have you far from me, when we ride. You will become accustomed soon enough."

It had slipped Sansa's mind that she had ever been upset with him about having to ride her horse. But as the words left his lips she suddenly felt again the soreness of her thighs and back, and the rawness of her hands. "Might I ask why?"

"You may ask... And I may choose not to answer."

Sansa sighed heavily. She had made up her mind that they were a family now, each others only family. It was a decision that meant she would trust him, as her husband, to make wise decisions for them. It meant that they would talk things through and make decisions together. _A marriage must start with trust and commitment, and maybe one day love will be born as it was with my own parents._ However when he turned from her, as he did now and made choices without so much as explaining to her why... Sansa made to extricate herself from his arms. He had come to her last night, and distracted her by appealing to her more base instincts, rather than converse with her. While a worthy distraction, _a very worthy distraction_ it was not one that could be maintained, for all secrets come to the surface in the dawn light.  
Sansa grasped his hands to peel them from her flesh, but they held strong. His face rose from where it was buried, and his eyes were filled with a stirring of emotions which she could not name. 

"I would not have you leave my side just yet." He reasoned, his voice a deep rumble in the quiet. All hoarseness forgotten. 

"And I would chose not to lie with a man who would placate me with kisses and insult my intelligence." Sansa bit back, leaving him momentarily stunned. His brows furrowed, and while a hardened edge threatened across his face Sandor seemed to fight it, and as soon as it had come it was replaced with a more neutral expression. 

"I would ask my _wife_ to stay by my side, a little longer." He managed finally, but would not meet her eye. Sansa stopped trying to pull away from him, and tilted his head so that she could look at him fully.

"Yes. I am your wife, and you are my husband. I would be an ear to your voice as I have said before Sandor. We are a _family_ now. We need to be open with each other." Time seemed to still as he gazed at her then, their eyes locking as they weighed and measured the consequences of being so forthcoming. At last Sandor nodded, and leaned forward to place a kiss upon her lips. 

"We are a family, Sansa, but I am not a good man." Sansa made to protest but he stopped her, for he was not done. "I will _try_." 

So Sansa stayed in his arms, and in hushed tones and as few words as possible Sandor explained his hesitations, and she helped him weigh the consequences of their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely fond of where this chapter ended... but if I stretched it out it would have gone on longer than I wanted. Soooooo we'll all just have to deal with it being a bit awkward. sorry!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter today... Happy reading!!

"You speak truly?" Sandor questioned again, the tentative grasp he maintained on his temper threatening to break and betray his apparent calm. Not that the feigned graces put the man before him any more at ease.  
They had left camp this morning not long after he and Sansa had spoken, and had made good time. Until they began to see the waste that had been made of the Riverlands. The War of the Five Kings had long sense come to an end, in theory, and yet even still there were many a band of thieves ravaging Westeros. Tales of the desolation wrought on the lands had not been exaggerated, and Sandor cursed himself for having dared to bring Sansa on such a journey with so little protection. It was just past mid-day that they had come upon this humble merchant. _if he could even be called that. _They were not yet to Duskendale, but if this man's words were true...__

__"I swear it m'lord." The man repeated, cowering away and refusing to look at anything but the mud caked to his own boots. Sandor blew a sharp breath out of his mouth and turned to peer at Sansa. She was perched gracefully atop her mare next to the wagon, where her ladies maid and Sandor's squire Gevin sat. Gevin had deftly drawn his dagger when they spotted the poor merchant and his son, and held it so it lay out of sight. Not that Sansa had noticed the boys feeble attempt to provide a second line of defense for his new lady. Her eyes had rested firmly on Sandor, and had not left him since the merchant had spoken. He saw fear there, though she schooled her features with ease._ _

__"He rode with Lord Randal Tarly." the merchant continued his voice coming out as a stammer. "They made for Maidenpool not two days before I left, but word was that a summons from the Queen calls Ser Gregor south, to Kings Landing. She wishes him to stand for the crown in a trial by combat for the imp."_ _

___Either the Gods mock us... or they see this warning as a boon._ He thought grimly. _All of Westeros and my brother and I travel the same path, I away and him to..._ "The summons would have caught him by now... How fares Duskendale?"_ _

__"Better than before Lord Tarly arrived, m'lord. He has seen it set to rights." Sandor cringed at the man's continued use of the title, but did not stop him. _I am a lord now. I must needs get used to it._ _ _

__"...And how many days journey are we from there?"_ _

__"Just one more full day, m'lord. If you keep pace."_ _

__\------_ _

__Sansa had felt the hairs on her neck stand on edge at the mans words, and as Sandor questioned him she felt nausea growing in her belly. It ate at her, turning the little food she had eaten this morning sour. Shae had given her some wine to drink as they had ridden on, saying it would help calm her, but Sansa had yet to notice a difference. _"Ser Gregor has made Duskendale his home these past few weeks."_ the man had said. _"He was at Lord Tarly's side as they restored the Riverlands."_ _ _

__Sandor had led them from the main road as soon as the merchant was far from sight, and although he did not say as much, his reasons for the change of course could be for no other reason. _He cannot face his brother with me in tow._ She could not dwell on possibilities, too much was uncertain even if the man spoke truly. Sansa dug her heels into her mare's sides, urging it into a canter so she might ride directly beside Sandor. If he noted her approach, he made no sign of it, for his eyes were too busy scanning the area around them. Looking for signs of movement, looking for his brother. _ _

__"My Lord?"_ _

__"Is it my Lord now, little bird?" He answered, his voice low. Sansa felt her face color, he had no sense of propriety sometimes and from the way the corner of his mouth turned up it was purposefully done. _What nerve he has that he sees fit to tease me at a time like this.__ _

____"It is improper to refer to you in any other way when we are not alone, _my Lord._ " She retorted indignantly._ _ _ _

____"Aye. I suppose you're right, my Lady. Although, if it is further counsel you seek... Mayhap you should wait until we are abed and you might whisper it in my ear."_ _ _ _

____Sansa watched for further signs of teasing, but saw none. _we had made such progress... and now are set back again._ She sighed, and they rode like that for some time picking their way through the wild until they came upon a less traveled path. Sandor turned them on it, so as to make it easier traveling for their wagon. His face becoming more and more grim with each hour that passed. _ _ _ _

____"How is the _escort_ to find us if we do not go to Maidenpool?" Sansa asked at last, keeping her voice low. Sandor looked as though he had not heard her, his gaze never leaving the path before them. "Sandor?"_ _ _ _

____"There are two paths to Maidenpool." he answered finally. "One that follows the coast, and one that turns north at Duskendale. From there, they both join and turn south to Kings Landing. That is the road we were upon this morning. Even if we travel wide of it, we can still make for Duskendale."_ _ _ _

____He didn't say, but Sansa knew already the words he had not spoken. _"...And hopefully, not run into my brother and his men as he rides south to heed the Queen's summons."__ _ _ _

____"... And from there? If we avoid company on the road, and make good time, what of us then?"_ _ _ _

____"Then... I shall see what plans the spider would have us part of."_ _ _ _

____"Then _we_ shall see." Sansa did not turn her gaze to see if he reacted to her having corrected him but instead slowed her mare so that she could ride away from him, closer to the wagon. Sandor was not of a mind to let her go so easily, and turned his large warhorse so that he might grasp her reigns and pull her beside him once more. They came to a stop, and Gevin urged the wagon on giving them some privacy. Sandor waited until there was some space between it and them before he dared to speak again._ _ _ _

____"Now more than ever, you will ride by my side. That is _not_ something which is debatable." There was a harsh edge to his voice, and as his eyes caught hers what she saw there sent a shiver down her spine.   
There had been hatred and pain in his eyes, especially when they had first met, and it had frightened Sansa worse than any burns ever had. But now it was different. Yes, the hatred of his brother still clouded them, and would strike fear into the eyes of any man... but that was not all. There was fear. _He is afraid... and not just of his brother._ Sansa leaned towards him, and placed her hand gently upon his. As if she might be able to sooth him with her touch. She could feel the coarseness of his skin, a mess of scars and calluses. Capable of bringing great pain and death yet also capable of such gentleness. He had displayed his kindness on more than one occasion, even before they had been wed, and even more so after. That this man could have a brother as vile and as evil as the Mountain dumfounded her. Ser Gregor had been the one to hold Sandor's face to the coals and to leave him scarred as he was now. Ser Gregor had also, if rumors could be believed, seen to the death of his and Sandor's own father and sister. That was not even the least of that mans evil tasks. Sansa remembered her own Lord Father having sent a band of soldiers out to see Ser Gregor returned to see the Kings justice, yet Joffery had pardoned him anyway. _ _ _ _

____"All will be well, I am sure of it." Sansa managed finally. Sandor did not look to be convinced by her words, but before he could say as much Gevin's voice interrupted him._ _ _ _

____"My Lord!" The boy cried, "Come quickly!"_ _ _ _


	13. Chapter 13

Gevin stood sentry at the door. He may have been a small boy, but he was strong, and quick as a whip. He didn't speak much, but Sansa could tell from the haunted look his eyes got sometimes that he had seen a great many horrors. He stood with his hands firmly clasped behind him, guarding the entryway to his masters tent.  
If Sansa had not known better, she would think her Lord husbands squire unarmed, but the boy had not lived so long by being naive. He carried a long dagger hidden up his sleeve, and was very skilled with it. Sansa had seen him practice by the fire. He could flip it out in the blink of an eye, and tuck it back just as quickly. He also had a dagger in his left boot, and a brass knuckle in his pocket. No harm would come to her while he yet breathed, the boy had said as much. Shae also paced the tent, her eyes and ears waiting for any sound, her trusty blade tied just under her skirts. While Sansa did not doubt their loyalty, she did doubt what they stood against should things come down to arms.  
Sandor had been so keen to keep them from his brother's path that they had wandered right into it. Or rather, right into one of the the outriders. The man had recognized Sandor, and had sounded a call before Sandor could move to dispatch him, they were soon joined by other riders. And him, the Mountain. _" Little brother."_ Gregor had all but growled, _"Off to seed your little bitch. The stories were true."_  
Sansa had wanted to faint when Gregor's eyes landed upon her. His gaze made her feel as if she weren't wearing any clothes, despite the layers upon her skin. She had kept her head down after that, and had barely noticed when they stopped their travels to make camp. Gregor said he could not linger long, but that he would be damned if he missed the opportunity to _get to know_ his brothers little wife.  
Sansa had retreated to her tent at Sandor's behest as soon as the opportunity presented itself, saying morning sickness was making her ill and she needed to lay down. Sandor had sent his squire and Shae with her, and here they waited. They had been using that excuse a lot lately, and Sansa dreaded the day her stomach failed to grow as people expected it to. _People might notice that I am not actually with child._  
Ser Gregor had frightened her, and she thanked the Gods that while Joffrey was cruel, he was not so cruel as to have married her off to him instead. But then, Joffrey was never as _close_ to Gregor as he was to Sandor, who had been by his side since he was a babe. In some twisted way, Sansa knew that Joffrey had affection for his _dog_. It was strange, to have things be broken down in such terms... Sansa wondered how Joffrey might take the loss. What he might do when he realized that his Hound had abandoned him.  
She had paced the tent for a while, but then the smells of lunch cooking without had made her feel ill and so she sat. _it's funny... I claim morning sickness for long enough I now begin to show symptoms of it._ Sansa would have laughed at that if she had not been so ill at ease for her husband. He was not fond of his brother, with good reason. Few were. Sansa only hoped that the queens summons would drive the man on before he saw fit to torment them. She hoped that the lure of the imp's trial by battle would be too much for Ser Gregor to refuse. 

\-----

At long last they had left, and Sandor waited till the last rider was long gone before ducking into the tent and sending his squire and Sansa's maid out. The sun was setting now, and although logic would dictate they stay since darkness was coming he did not wish to risk it. He did not want to be surprised by his brother in the night, saying something like _have you forgotten the rights to first night, little brother?_ or something of that ilk. They could not risk it, and Sandor would see them well away from here. He would make them ride through the night, if it eased the ache in his chest. 

"You yet live." Sansa stood, and gracefully crossed the tent to Sandor and threw her arms around him, clutching him tightly. "I had feared for us." She said, her voice muffled by his jerkin.

"Much as I wish my brother to die by my hand, I have lived many a year in his company and not yet drawn blood. We are leaving, gather what you will." Picking up to move again would not be hard, they hadn't truly made camp, but it still seemed that it would take too long. 

His brother had been as raucous and disdainful as ever, and his men just as much so, but they were not drunk. Sandor could not deny the blessing that was. Not that his brother needed the excuse of drink to justify his actions. Sandor could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his chest the entire time that sat and spoke. It was as though a hummingbird were caught in his chest, and was attempting with all its might to break free. 

Gregor had torn into his meat with relish, and had laughed that the King's dog had gotten himself such a bitch to whelp his pups. He played at being cordial, but Sandor knew that if Gregor ever came upon one of the babes he would see it killed. The child would be a threat to him, as Gregor had no heir of his own, and had gone through as many wives as he had battles. And Gregor had seen many battles. Sandor wouldn't have put it past him to kill him and take Lady Sansa as his next wife. It wouldn't be unheard of, marrying your brother's widow. Sandor could tell by the glint in Gregor's eye that the thought had occurred to the man. Sansa was a pretty thing, and would be a token of standing. Except that Sandor was in the room when Lord Stark had sent a band of men to hunt down the mountain, before King Robert had died, and Joffery had pardoned him. Gregor would not let a thing like that go unpunished, he would not be kind to her, he would drive her mad as he had done to his other wives. 

"What did he say?" Sansa asked, refusing to step away from him so he might ready himself to travel. "Did he seem upset?"

"It is of no concern. We need to leave this place."

"The gods have smiled on us then." Sansa decided. 

"Aye, they may have."

\-------

They arrived in Duskendale as son was setting the next day. It cast an amber glow across the city and bathed in fading light. Sansa's hands were chaffed from where she had grasped her reigns, more so after having happened upon her good-brother. Every sound, and every movement caused her to jump in her saddle. When they had paused to rest, and she had dozed off and nightmares had plagued her. Steel grey eyes, cold and hateful had watched her. They undressed her lustfully, and the mountains boisterous laugh echoed in the darkness. Sansa had lurched awake after having felt strong hands on her, but when she awoke it was to daylight and she was untouched. A cold sweat covered her, and she felt nauseous.  
She hadn't been able to keep down any food after that, and she had begged Sandor to let her ride in the cart. He had refused, as she knew he would, but the way his mouth turned down and his eyes cast to the side when she asked told her all he never would. He feared they were not yet clear of his brother, even if the man had been riding in the opposite direction.  
Sandor pulled them up short, and had sent Gevin ahead on foot to find them lodgings at an inn once they reached the outskirts of the town. Sansa welcomed the respite, but longed for the comfort of a warm fire and bath to soothe her aches. While Sandor stood near their horses watching for the boys return, Sansa took a seat next to Shae. The handmaiden had become a dear friend to Sansa, and she was happy that the woman had agreed to come with them despite the circumstances.  
Sansa had confided in her some of what had happened, in a vague sense. That she didn't feel safe in the capital and wanted to be away... but something told her the woman knew more than she let on. She even seemed sad of late. Shae had once mentioned a lover, some lord or another, and Sansa suspected that things had not been well between the two when their party left King's Landing. 

"Sansa, get on your horse." Sandor said turning only slightly towards her, his hand came to rest upon his sword. Sansa looked up and saw that Gevin was returning at a brisk walk, and he had company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno... I kind of really wanted to make Sandor and Gregor fight, but I couldn't justify it. I figure Gregor would be too stoked about going to Tyrions trial that he wouldn't really care. Besides, they are bound to bump into each other every now and then... I dunno. I feel like they'll meet again and then they can attempt to kill each other. For now, it was just a harrowing family lunch. lol


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I meant to have a massive cliff hanger here, which was inspired by MegaKat's comments... but I got distracted and the chapter got too long so you'll just have to wait for the next one. *evil laughter*

The boy with Gevin had been sent by Varys. Gevin said that the boy had found him and led him to an inn where there were rooms waiting, after having seen things were in order they came back to fetch the others. The boy was foreign, Sansa could see as much. When he spoke although he spoke little, it was with a distinct accent, his words so thick she could scarce make them out. But he led them back to the in all the same, and chastised them to keep themselves covered and stay in their rooms.   
Sandor let the boy know what he thought of that, but when Sansa rested her hand on his arm he stilled. Though she could see in his eyes he wanted to say more on the matter. Their room was large, for an inn. It had a large bed, and a table by the window. The shutters had been thrown open to air it out, and Sansa supposed the room hadn't been used in some time. She wondered if this was where Varys had set aside for them, or if Gevin hadn't seen those accommodations to be fit enough for _his Lady._ She blushed at the thought. Gevin had mentioned to her once that he was low enough in status that being even the Hounds squire was more than he could even ask for. But that now that he served _Lord Clegane_ and _Lady Stark_... Well, the boy had puffed up like a peacock at that and took his duty more seriously than ever. Nothing was ever good enough for his Lord and Lady, and he would do anything for them.   
Sansa thought that maybe when he was older, when this was all done with, she might ask that Sandor knight the boy. But that was a silly notion, Sansa knew what Sandor thought of Knights and their vows.   
Gevin brought them their meal, and he and Shae saw that they had a bath filled and the bed turned down and then the two left them. Sandor slumped at the table and poured himself a draught of wine. 

"The lad said that he would be _in touch_." His mouth twitched and he took a long drink. Sansa could see the muscles of his throat working. He poured her one as well, and sliding it across the table to her he nodded at the bath waiting by the fire behind a screen. "I suppose you'll be wanting to bath before the water gets cold. I'd leave you to your modesty, but the runt said _stay here._ " 

Sansa took the wine and sipped at it, remembering the first time they had shared a flagon, on their wedding night. Sansa had wanted to protect her modesty and had been unable to take the cup from him, so he'd tipped it to her lips so she might drink. She felt her face flush at the memory, and wondered at how with all they'd done together the thought could still make her blush. "If you don't mind I go first?" 

"It matters not to me, just know that your food will be cold if you take too long." 

Sansa nodded and took her wine behind the screen. The water was scented, and smelled of lavender. She smiled to herself, Shae knew how she loved lavender. It occurred to her then that her hand maiden had left before helping her out of her dress. Twist as she might, Sansa could not reach the laces. "My Lord?" she called, her fingers becoming tangled. 

"What?" Sandor mumbled at her around a mouthful of hot food. Sansa dipped her head around the screen and frowned at him. 

"You would address me so?" She asked, upset at his constant lack of manners. Sandor's mouth twitched and he stood. 

"I'll address you however I like woman." But even as he spoke he stood, and next she knew Sandor was beside the screen, a leg of chicken in his fingers and his mouth full. "What ails you?" He finished off the leg and tossed the bone into the fire. It crackled and spit from the fat, but the bone was soon consumed in flame. She caught as Sandor shot a wary eye towards the hearth, but he seemed to give it little enough thought. 

"I can't get out of my dress." Sansa managed to untangle her fingers as Sandor stepped forward to help her. She smacked at his hand. "Your fingers are dirty, you'll see it ruined." 

Sandor looked amused at that, and made a show of sucking the juices of each of his fingers in turn before spinning her around to undo her laces. "The bird is worried I'll muss her feathers, is that it?" He dress suddenly became loose and slumped down around her shoulders, Sansa just managed to catch it. 

"There, you can go back to your meal. Thank you." 

"I've done eating all the food I want. Mayhap I'll eat something else before the night is through." With a sly smirk Sandor stepped to the table and took up a chair, placing it by the bath. "Climb in, I'll help you with your hair." 

Sansa wanted to protest that husbands do not bathe their wives, but he did not appear as though he would hear her arguments even if she made them. Resigned, she slipped the her dress the rest of the way down. Sandor took it from her and threw it up over the screen so that the mud on the hem might dry. He helped her with her slip and under-things, but Sansa thought by the way his fingers lingered he had other thoughts than bathing in mind. His fingers left her skin feeling warm where he'd traced it, and she was glad to sink into the bath and blame her flushing on the heat of the water. 

\-------

Sandor had washed her hair for her when she had bathed. He was sure he'd made a mess of it, but he'd brushed his horses mane enough times and supposed a ladies hair couldn't be too different. After Sansa had stepped out of the bath, her body glistening wet in the firelight, he felt himself harden and was glad when she stepped around the screen to eat so that she wouldn't notice. _Not that she won't notice it later_ he thought, slipping into the bath. 

"You've hardly left me any wine!" Sansa called, as he dunked his head under the water and set to scrubbing. "And you've eaten some off my plate." 

She sounded indignant, and Sandor smiled to himself. He had done it on purpose, because he could. "Send my squire for more wine, he should be just outside, then tell the little shit he can take the night off." 

"He has a name Sandor." Sansa said, appearing around the side of the screen. She was in a pale green robe, and her damp hair had been braided, it hung over her shoulder and was tied with a yellow ribbon. 

"I know it. But the boy thinks himself something special ever since you've shown up." 

"And I suppose you seek to remind him that life isn't a story?" Before he could answer Sansa strode away. 

\----------

Sansa didn't get as much sleep as she would have liked that night. Sandor was in a mood after she had chastised him, and had seen fit to grumble at her. Not wanting him to go to sleep angry, she had made sure to kiss him goodnight. His hand had found its way under her robe and the next thing she knew he had her naked on the bed and was kissing his way up her leg.   
Not that she minded. If his fingers had left her skin feeling warm earlier her kisses set her on fire. It had occurred to her, but only briefly, that it was a wonder he could think of doing something like this after having just barely escaped his brother. That thought didn't last long though, as Sandor set her toes to curling. She was glad she had sent Gevin away from the door, it was bad enough that he and Shae had been so close when her and Sandor had made love in the tent. 

He hiked her legs up, and Sansa felt as he ground himself against her eliciting a moan from her lips. He growled at that, and began kissing her fervently. Sansa didn't think she would ever get used to the heady feeling she got when he rubbed against her, when she felt the warmth of his skin against hers, and when she felt his hard muscles rippling under her grasp. When he pushed himself inside her, it was a shock, and she dragged her nails down his back leaving bright red marks. He thrust harder at that, and there was a glint in his eye. 

"Please." She gasped, and one of Sandor's hands found its way between them to rub against her. Sansa clutched at his back again, and groaned. She felt her eyes flutter back, as Sandor began to move in and out of her faster and faster. The sound of their coupling blending with the roar of the fire and their own gasps and moans. After what seemed both like an eternity and no time at all They found their release, and Sandor collapsed on top of her, his weight overwhelming. Eventually he caught his breath and slipped out, taking her in his arms and pulling her tightly to him. 

"When did you mean to tell me?" He asked, kissing the crown of her head. Sansa pushed her hair out of the way and glanced up at him. He had propped himself up on the pillows, and had been staring at her nude body laying amongst the sheets. 

"Tell you what?" He nodded towards her and Sansa looked down. She didn't see anything out of sorts. "What?" 

Sandor's mouth twitched. "Silly little bird. You've been so concerned with everything you haven't noticed?"

"What?" She sat up, and clutched the sheet to her body to cover herself. 

"Gods be good woman." Sandor said, a frown creasing his brow. "You really haven't noticed?" Sansa shook her head. "You've been ill of late, and you're getting fat. When was the last you bled?"

Sansa felt her mouth drop open. "I am not getting fat! and I most certainly--" _gods be good._ Sandor began to cackle at that, and Sansa wanted to smack him. She had been so busy being concerned about convincing everyone else that she was with child that it never occurred to her that she actually might be. _And that Sandor would notice it before me..._ She decided he deserved a good smack anyway, but Sandor caught her in a kiss instead.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, last new chapter today. I promise. I was on a roll and couldn't be bothered to stop.
> 
> This one borrows pretty heavily from the book so ya know... Don't sue me... lol

The boy came back at dawn and informed them that passage had been booked on a boat in the harbor. The "Maiden's Kiss". Sandor had laughed at that, but Sansa had thought it was sweet. She had a dreamy look to her, ever since she realized the night before she was with child. And Sandor couldn't help but smile to himself every-time he thought of how shocked she had looked when he had mentioned it, and when she had realized it was true. She had scolded him every chance she had gotten after that, for all manner of little things. Especially when she found out he had suspected her condition for some time, and had insisted she ride her horse anyway. _"You could have endangered the baby!"_ she had protested. _"You put your own babes life in danger!_ Sandor had hushed her at that.   
He would never do any such thing, and when he told her as much Sansa had the decency to look ashamed of herself for having suggested it. They sent Gevin and Shae off to sell the cart and see their possessions stowed on the ship and made their way down to the common room to break their fast. Sansa had protested saying they should eat in their room, or take something to eat aboard the ship, but Sandor wanted to see what news was to be had. He couldn't very well do that hiding away in their room.   
Eventually Sansa had given up and joined him. They took up at a table near the wall, for the tables near the fire were occupied by soldiers. Sandor cursed to himself, and thought whether they might be able to sneak out before they were seen, but the in keep had already spotted them. The old man approached, and Sandor sent him off for food and wine. He made sure his sword was loose in its scabbard. _Polliver and the Tickler both, and a squire from the looks of it._ They were his brother's men. The squire spoke first, he was drunk, and Sandor would wager that none of them had seen a bed that night. 

"Is this the pup?" The boy shouted, the warm liquid in his mug filling him with courage. "The little lost puppy Ser Gregor spoke of?" He saw from the corner of his eye that the Tickler had put his hand on the boys arm in warning, but the squire had shaken him off. Either the boy was too stupid, or he just didn't care. 

"The boy can't hold his wine." The tickler said, and took up his glass. 

"Then he shouldn't drink." The common room had fallen silent, it was still early, and they were the only ones up aside from the inn keeper and his family who up until then had been breaking their own fast in the corner. The inn keep returned with their food setting it on their table. His hands shook, and Sandor saw Sansa give the man a kindly look. She herself looked worried enough, he needed to get her out of here. 

"We want no trouble Ser." The inkeep stammered. 

"You've forgotten the wine." Sandor said, by way of answer. His eyes never leaving the men by the fire. The Inn keeper rushed off and returned with a flagon and two cups. Sandor filled them both and emptied his cup, refilling it immediately. The inn keeper rushed off to shoo his family into the kitchen.

"If your looking for Ser, you've come too late. He was at Harrenhal, then here. The queen sent for him." Polliver said. 

"So Gregor took Harrenhal?"

"Aye. Wasn't much to take by the time we got there. Besides, the queen blames the imp for her son's death and wants his head. But you would know that, wouldn't you? What was it you said you were doing here?" Polliver rested his mug on the edge of the table.

"I never said." Sandor drained his glass.

"Did king's landing get to hot for the pup? Did you tuck tail and run off?" The squire stood, and so did Sandor swaying slightly. He saw that Sansa had pressed herself to the wall behind them. 

"Who's the girl?" The tickler said, finally taking notice of her. His face lit with recognition "Ah... So the rumor is true then? The baby brother has landed himself winterfells daughter. She's prettier than I heard, and I heard a lot."

\----

Sansa pressed herself harder against the wall, as if she could will herself to disappear. She had heard tales of these men. Of the Mountains band of ruffians. They should have left with Shae and Gevin, they should never of stopped to break their fast. She should have put her foot down. A thousand excuses and what if's crowded her mind and at the center of them all was _There are three of them, can Sandor take on three men?_ He must. She knew he must. 

"Bugger that. and Bugger you." The tickler shrugged and scratched at the back of his head. Sandor drew his longsword from it's scabbared. Everything happened at once. Polliver drew his sword, and the Tickler threw a dagger, faster than she could blink. Sandor lunged forward the same moment she stepped to the side. The dagger embedding itself in the wall where she had stood only moments before. Sandor laughed, it was a hollow sound. Sansa realised it wasn't Sandor who stood before her now, it was the Hound. "I was hoping you would do something stupid." He said, and went after them, knocking the sword from one of the men's hands. 

The squire was up too fumbling at his sword belt, but he was too drunk. He gave up when he saw Sansa, and a grin spread across his face. Sansa saw the squire come at her as Sandor took on the other two, and threw her cup at him. It hit him square in the face and he staggered, rubbing the wine from his eyes. She grasped the dagger where it was stuck in the wall and tried desperately with all her might to pull it out. The squire came closer, and drew his own dagger. 

"A pretty little thing." He laughed, and Sansa noticed he had a large pimple on his nose. She managed to get the dagger unstuck just as he lunged at her. She spun to the side, and in his drunken state he was unable to stop and ran face first into the wall. Sansa stuck him in the back with the dagger, and struggled to pull it out again as he screamed. It came lose and was covered in thick red blood, Sansa felt her stomach turn. There was another yell from across the room, and Sansa saw Sandor stagger back, his face covered in red from a gash above his eye and a slash along his neck. 

The Tickler was trying to sneak up behind him, so sansa took another cup and threw it, but she missed. The squire grabbed her from behind and she screamed, dropping the dagger. Sansa struggled against him, but his grip was too strong, so she kicked back, and slammed him into the wall. His hands fell away and she grasped the flagon, cracking it on his head. The boy slumped. 

Behind her, the Hound had it worse, he had drunk to much on an empty stomach and the two men were getting the better of him. He was bleeding profusely from a series of cuts, but when he caught sight of her he fought harder, and landed a solid blow only to get slashed on the leg. It was a massive gash, and he fell back. 

"Give up now, and we'll take you to your brother." one of the men said. Sansa could felt as though her heart would burst It pounded against her ribcage so hard, and her hands shook violently. _I must do something, I must._ She fell to her knees to search the ground for the squires dagger. 

"If I do you'll just take me back to Gregor, and he'd just kill me."

"He might, or he might give you to me." One of the men said. "He might give me your little wife. How would you like that?"

Sansa heard the Hound shout and kick a bench. It took one of the men in the knee and he fell, Sandor's sword cleaved into him with a sickening noise. The other man swung at him, but came up short when a dagger landed solidly in his back. Gevin rushed in with his second dagger drawn but the Hound was already back up, and though he swayed violently he jerked his sword from where it rested in the first man's body and sunk it solidly in the other. 

"I'd think twice about touching her." He growled, as the light left the mans eyes. Sansa watched Sandor sink to the ground, and realized that she was screaming.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Sandor Dead?? Does he live?? gotta love a good cliffhanger... Sorry for the wait, I got distracted researching ship types and crew compliments, and all kinds of details about how long the journey would actually take. It was fascinating, although not surprisingly... Little of that info shows up in the chapter. lol Yay for delayed updates!!
> 
> Comments and feedback welcome, btw. I haven't beta'd ANY of this so if anyone notices anything feel free to say. I probably should have mentioned that like, 16 chapters ago...

"No." The Captain said again, his face unchanged and his posture firm. "You'll not be boarding."

_The nerve. As if it will never get easier. _Sansa thought grimly, the situation growing more and more bleak as Sandor continued to pale beside her. To think she had spent the morning thinking of what she might name the child growing within her, and now attempted to tend to her husband, who lay dying beside her. It had been hard enough getting Sandor to the ship, and now this man stood between them and their escape._  
The inn-keeper had provided them with a cloth so they might hastily tie his leg in an attempt to stem the flow of blood, and had even taken them up on his own horse and cart just to get them _away__ from his inn. The man had left his boy to strip the others of what goods they might possess and send for the city watch.  
Sansa had watched with short breath as each bump and jolt of the roughly made cart had shook Sandor. He maintained a brave face in the moments he was awake, but he did not long withstand the pain and began to fade out of consciousness as they approached the harbor.  
The morning fog hung low about the shipyard, and Sansa found herself soon lost as to from whence they came and to where they were headed, However Gevin lead them forth with a sure foot a grave look cast upon his face. As Gevin ushered them to where the Maiden's Kiss was docked, Sansa tore her eyes briefly from her husbands stilled frame to take in the sight. The ship seemed to suddenly appear before them from the haze as if it were a specter. It was massive, although not anywhere near as large as some other of the other ships which lay at anchor nearby. Sansa had never seen it's like.  
It boasted three large masts which seemed to disappear into the low lying morning fog, and had an ornately carved woman draped dramatically across its prow. Her head was tipped back gracefully, a look of ecstasy upon it. Her dress was scandalous at best, and was carved so that its draping fabrics blew out gracefully behind her, twisting in the wind, although there was none. Sansa watched the carving with awe. 

__"Your maids been raising hell, M'lady. And if you think we're taking this bloodied bastard and whatever trouble he brings on board my ship you've got another thing coming." A stern voice boomed from on the gangway. Sansa turned to see a tall well-dressed man making his way towards them. _He must be the Captain._ _ _

__"Ser, I beg a chance to--" Gevin started, speaking on her behalf._ _

__"No." The Captain said again, his face unchanged and his posture firm. "You'll not be boarding."_ _

__Sansa thought of everything she might say to persuade him. _"You've already our belongings on board, you'll lose the tide if you unload them.", "My maid is on board, would you kidnap her in your haste to leave?", "We mean no harm, and bring no danger with us..."_ None of the thoughts that raced through her mind seemed as anything who would convince the man. He was well dressed yes, but as Sansa climbed down from the cart where she sat by Sandor's side she saw him more closely. His clothing was weathered and practical, he was clean but did not appear to take much stock in his appearance besides that. The man's face was weathered, and his hands gnarled and rough from the work. This man would appreciate lives hard lived, not the image they no doubt appeared to be. A lady dressed in a dress that could feed his family, if he had one, for months. Her ladies maid and her husbands squire. Gevin would have shown up with the cart and three finely bred horses... This man no doubt saw them as spoiled, and entitled. _ _

__"All is not as it would seem... I would explain all to you in good time, please--"_ _

__"None of your false courtesy's m'lady. I've not the time or the patience." The Captain interrupted. Sansa could feel herself flush. This man was too much like Sandor, he would not be swayed by anything so trivial as begging. Sansa considered what might sway Sandor should their positions be reversed._ _

__"I have to reasons you should let us board and send your ships healer, if you have one, to attend us. Although I should think only the first reason is necessary." Sansa said, approaching the man who towered above her. Sansa caught her breath, and infused her tone with more confidence and assurance than she felt. "You have made a contract with my husbands squire and already have taken payment for services. To renege upon this contract would tarnish your good name, and with my standing I would see to it that you may never dock here or in any port near here again."_ _

__The Captain did not seem to be swayed, but his eye twitched ever so slightly. "And the second?" He growled, stepping closer so as to get a better look at her in the dull morning light._ _

__"I have always wanted to own a ship. Mayhap I shall purchase yours from the merchant you serve. "_ _

__The Captain stared at her a good moment, and then began to laugh. It was a loud, boisterous laugh, and Sansa staggered back from the shock of it. The Captain reached out and tucked her firmly under his arm, and motioned to a few of the seamen working nearby._ _

__"Get them to a cabin!" He shouted, his voice commanding and firm. "And see that Desmet sees to this great bloody bastard. I'll not have a corpse taking up space on my boat." Sansa squirmed under his grasp, and he spun her about so that he might get a better look at her. "I've never been threatened by a wisp of a girl before lass, you've got more fire in you than all the red priests of essos combined." He winked at her, and stalked off._ _

__\---_ _

__The roughly hewn oak floor boards were once again slick with vomit and salt water. It mattered not how many times Gevin, or Shae or even on occasion Sansa scrubbed them.The stench lingered even after the fluid had long since washed away. None but Shae could stomach the constant pitching of the ocean until the second day, and effects had been foul._ _

__They had been two days before the mast before Sansa could keep down her broth, and another still before she felt well enough and was able to stand. She had made her way slowly to the deck of the ship, which was busy with activity, and found a place along the side to lean and gasp for breath. The fresh air helped, and strong breeze which tousled her hair and dried her lips was refreshing unlike anything she could describe. The salty air rejuvenated her, and the Captain swore she was made for the sea. The man had taken kindly to her, even after they had gotten off to a bad start._ _

__The sailors who dashed about used language which caused Sansa's ears to burn and had been far worse than anything Sandor had ever muttered under his breath. There were eight passengers this trip, including her own party, but Sansa had seen none of them. The Captain confided to her that mostly passengers, when there are any, stay to the below decks. If the harsh nature of the crew had anything to do with it, Sansa could understand why. The allure of fresh air had been too much though, and Shae had also insisted that she take a respite from where she sat at Sandor's side. Hour after hour ever since they had come aboard._ _

__Desmet had been ever present since their arrival. He had managed to stem the bleeding and had come back often to change the bandages and wash the wounds so they wouldn't grow infected. The man was odd, to say the least, but he had a good enough nature. Even if Gevin had chastised him on more than one occasion to guard what tales he told them as he saw to Sandor. The man had a love of tales, and he set Sansa's face as red as the bandages he changed. Sandor had only awoken once, and he had cursed loudly and thrashed about threatening to break his stitches until Desmet had given him milk of the poppy, despite his protests. Desmet had kept Sandor subdued since then, only rousing him into a barely conscious state when he fed him a broth and honey to help him keep his strength._ _

__"We'll be in Pentos in four days, if the wind keeps." That Captain said, looking to the sky. As welcome as the news was, it also concerned her. The boy had said that someone would come for them when the made land, but he did not say who or how. _So many unknowns.__ _

__\------------_ _

__The Stranger had come for him, that he knew. The shadow of the God had waited in the corner with eager eyes as they had tended to him. Every-time he woke from his drugged sleep, his mind in tumult and his body afire with pain... There it stood. In all his life, in all the battles he had fought, never had he seen a reaper come for him. He would have welcomed it then, but not now. Not when he finally had something to live for. Sandor's days melted together in a haze of fevered delirium, with the shadow ever present. Ever waiting and ever watching._ _

__The constant pitch and yaw of the ship settled into his dreams. Causing him to be thrown about in his mind, visited by all manor of sights and sounds. He could not make sense of his dreams, and one by one they came and went. _Anyone who says milk of the poppy gives one untroubled sleep is full of shit._ Sandor had thought to himself, in a moment of cognizance. That moment hadn't lasted long however, and soon he was lost again in his delirium. _ _

__It was on the sixth day he woke, in a strange room and shrouded in darkness. Unable to stand or sit up, and alone. He had made a ruckus until someone had come to him. A grizzled old sailor, who held some knowledge a maester might. A dropout of the academy no doubt, who favored adventure to duty. It was the same face which he had seen in his dreams._ _

__"Awake at last." the man said, taking a seat beside Sandor and lighting a few candles. The man began to check his bandages, and Sandor let him, he felt to weak to protest. "The leg will never be the same." The man said at last._ _

__"Where is my wife?" Sandor growled, forcing himself to sit up. His arms shook from the effort, and his muscles ached. He felt himself slumping backwards, just as the man adjusted his pillows. Sandor laid back, exhausted. Even that movement seemed to take all his strength. He closed his eyes._ _

__"She is well, and with the Captain." The man replied, taking up a bowl from a nearby table. Sandor saw thin wisps of steam still rising from it, and could smell the broth from where he lay. His stomach growled._ _

__"I'll not see myself fed, like some bloody green boy on his deathbed." He had meant it to sound far more threatening, but his voice came out weak and low. The man smiled._ _

__"Then mayhap I'll fetch your Lady wife, and you'll be more inclined to be fed by her hand." The man stood. "She is quite fond of you... And would not leave your side until we forced her from it."_ _

__"Aye." Sandor said, his eyes feeling heavy. "She would not see me die."_ _


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a terrible person, It's been literally a year since I have updated this. o_O Sorry it's so short!
> 
> Also, I do have a couple of chapters already written that just need to be fine-tuned so I'll be releasing those in the next few weeks, if anyone is still interested in seeing how things go. Hopefully I'll be able to wrap things up to a natural conclusion, even if not a complete ending. Hope everyone has been well!

Heat rose from the tiled roofs in visible waves, blurring the view of the sprawling city below, and making the hoards of merchants and maidens appear as though they were as one with the dusky orange buildings which swaddled them as a mother would a babe. A lone figure dashed high above, from ridge line to trellis, leaping and tumbling as if in flight, Not a part of the throbbing mass, but a lone spirit free from it’s clutches. Seeing its purpose, the figure made a leap through the air across a broad alleyway landing swiftly on the adjacent roof and slowing. The figure took in it’s surroundings, and then, with a final leap upon the roof of a particularly lofty manse came to a complete stop. 

The boy, for that is what the figure was, began to creep carefully along the building’s precipice, careful of loose tiles and the wary eyes of household guards. He longed for the respite an awning might provide from the glaring sun, but knew better now that it was easier to be seen in shadow, than in the glint of sunlight where one had to shield their eyes to make out shapes clearly. The boy found coverage in the heavy foliage of a cyprus tree and waited, for he knew that fat man would soon enter, and he had news to share. News that would feed he and his friends for weeks. News of a ship with a maiden on its prow, which carried runaways and as the fat man called it, “a new hope”.

——

A squire must be stoic and dutiful, he reminded himself. Especially when his master is sour and easily angered. Gevin flinched as the cup crashed agains the wall of the cabin, shattering from the force and spilling the milky white liquid across the wall. He felt the liquid land upon him, and soak into the folds of his heavy woolen tunic. The warmth causing him to become even more sticky from the heat, and making him wish he could dress in loose linens and pantaloons as some of the captains men did. His master did not shout, for there was no need, the mans rage was palpable.   
His little wife, the lady Sansa, stood by. Her eyes were brimming with tears, although they did not fall. She looked even more uncomfortable than Gevin felt, for he was used to hardships and uncomfortable positions. However her heavy silken gown with its layers and layers of fabric appeared as though it was suffocating her, adding layer upon layer of bulk to her slim frame, and masking her ever growing belly. The girl was a faint shade of pink, and her fiery hair stuck to her neck and brow. Her handmaiden stood by resolutely, with a vile and disapproving look upon her countenance, fanning the lady. Although, Gevin suspected it did little good. Sansa had a look of disapproval on her face as well, and Gevin suspected she was imagining what her fate would have been had she been married to a more agreeable knight, as opposed to the vile soldier whose coarse ways and stubborn streak had led them to be delayed since morning in exiting the captains ship. 

Gevin’s master had insisted that he was fit enough to exit the ship which had been their home these past days of his own volition, despite the fact that he had been lurking at the Strangers door for more than a week, and had only just been brought to consciousness. The Captain, and the man who was the ships healer, Desmet, had all staunchly disapproved of this notion, and had insisted on him being carried forth on a handcart and delivered to their destination. It was that notion that had sparked the man’s tantrum. In a ploy to get him to behave, the Captain had summoned Lady Sansa. The trick worked well enough, for upon seeing his lady wife’s face, Gevin could swear that his master developed something of a sheepish look, even if he did little to staunch the stem of curses dripping from his lips.   
—-

“If it please you husband, do as the Captain bids. You are not fit to walk.” Sansa pleaded. The Captain had sent one of his men to fetch her, even though she already knew the reason. She and Shea had been able to hear Sandor swearing from the deck, and try as she might, Sansa could not help herself from flushing in embarrassment. She and Sandor seemed to have been set back by his wounds, and had lost almost all progress they had made in opening up to one another.

Sandor had not spoken to her, not in truth, since the ships healer had brought him back to consciousness. He had been in an almost constant state of drunkenness, as he refused milk of the poppy for his pain and preferred instead to fill his empty belly with sour wines. Sansa was exhausted. She had spent the entire voyage either ill from the babe growing inside of her, or ill from the churning of the ship. Shea had mentioned that it would be better to be rid of the baby, as they had no guarantee of their situation, and even less guarantee that Lord Vary’s men would be in Pentos to meet them as he had promised. With little and less to their name on this side of the narrow sea, Sansa had begun to despair and was beginning to see Shea’s side of things, loathe as she was to admit it. Especially back when Desmet could not promise her that Sandor would ever wake up. Sandor’s eyes snapped to her, and she saw there the rage that it seemed had always filled them. Sansa wondered if in his illness he had forgotten unspoken pact that they had made, to care and keep each other. 

“Leave us, please.” She stated finally, and waited for the others to slip from the room. Gevin last of all, with a worried glance between the two of them. Sandor paid no heed, for he stood limply, propped against the wall of the ship making an effort of keeping himself standing. The man was half dressed in his breeches, and without a tunic, with his broad chest heaving from exertion. Long dark hair limp, and moving with each shudder of his muscles and puff of breath from his lips. Even after not eating for almost a fortnight he was still huge, and Sansa was loath to upset such a man further. As the door softly closed, he sank down, and Sansa moved as quick as she might to help him to the berth. He cringed from her touch, but was forced to accept her charity in sitting down. He laid back, chest continuing to heave, and threw an arm up to pound at the wall in anger, until it too became weak and dropped. 

“You think me weak as well.” He gasped, faintly. His deep voice a rumble from where he lay. Sansa waited, to see if he would continue. He had not spoken to her in so long, she had thought that it was something that she had done to cause him ill will toward her. It had never occurred that he might be mad at himself. That he might be embarrassed to be considered an invalid incapable of caring for himself. The moments dragged on, with only the gentle sounds of the ship settling, and the banging clamor of the docks, and of goods being unloaded filling the air. Finally, he continued, once his breathing slowed and his chest no longer heaved from the effort. “I will not be seen as such, and you will not treat me as such, true as it may be.”

“There is no shame in a soldier recovering from battle—“

“I did no battle.” He lashed out, interrupting her. “I let myself become soft, consumed by your wiles and did not do my duty. I let us be attacked, and almost lost you and the babe because of it. This will not stand.”

“My lord, you did more than—“ 

“Enough. Send in my squire to help me dress. I shall ride forth on my horse, or not at all.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #churnsOutChaptersAsFastAsGRRM #albeitMuchShorter #IDon'tBeta...IAlpha

Sandor was dressed in his plate, and mounted on his horse as they made their way through the city. His face set as if in stone, and a sheen of sweat on his brow. A currier had met them, as the men had loaded their things upon a wagon, and had appealed to them to follow him. Sansa rode just behind him on her own horse, saying naught. After some few lengths of riding he made a point to fall back and tug her gelding forward, so that she rode beside him, even now he wanted to keep her close in spite of how he’d behaved. Stranger did not seem to share his disquiet, and had nipped at the poor beast Sansa rode every few paces until Sandor had chastised him. To do so had taken breath he hadn’t had to spare, and he felt his chest tighten at the effort. He’d looked to Sansa then to see if she had seen his failings, but the girls eyes had been cast aside, as they had been for some time. She had kept her eyes downcast since he had raised his voice to her, and had acted demure and subdued since they had left their cabin speaking as little as possible. She had a light scarf covering her, to protect her skin from the harsh rays of the sun. However Sandor could see that even tucked away under its folds she was still the most breathtaking creature he had seen.

Were he not so sour with himself, and his behavior, Sandor might have taken pleasure in seeing her so enchanted. However, he had other more pressing concerns. Where the messenger was taking them, what allies the spider kept in this foreign land, and what they would have to do in return for the mans services. He kept a wary eye on all those who surrounded them, and wished, not for the first time that they had been able to stay in a familiar land. He wished that he was more able, and that he had not had to insist on his armor, so that they metal might help him stay upright despite its weight. He was loath to feel the suffocating air, thick with moisture and heat, while he already labored for breath. He hated himself for the fact that if anything happened, he would be completely unable to protect what was his. 

——

The pale silks of her dress clung damply to her skin as Sansa rode along behind her husband. She had decided to heed his words, the ones that he had given her so long ago after ser Meryn had struck her. Words meant to have protected her from the monsters in her life, to give him what he wants lest he lash out at her again. He blamed her for his injuries, she knew that now. Blamed her for being in this predicament at all, for forcing him to flee as though a coward from the only home he has ever known because of her. Sansa blushed at the thought. _Of course he resents me for it. He had station above his standing and the kings favor, and now… Now he is a fugitive in a strange land, rife with wounds and saddled with a pregnant woman who is of no use to anyone._

Sansa sniffled, and did her best to stifle the sound. He was of keen abilities even injured thus, and she knew she bore no secrets from him, for he could read her as no one could. This man, who could barely stand, who had strapped himself into his full armor which Sansa suspected was no more a show of strength than a plea for aid. She knew something of the workings of armor from when she had played in Winterfell as a child. She used to race about with the others, and now and then would find herself in Mikken’s forge. It wasn’t so much the hammering of metal which had intrigued her, rather the delicate intricacies of the designs with which he laid the blades and their hilts. She had picked up a thing or to else while watching quietly, and one of those things was it was difficult to sit lax when strapped in tightly due to the nature of the metal. Mikken had declared that was why the knights looked so ponce upon their steeds and in the tapestries and why they always frowned, but Sansa had argued that a straight back and a noble brow were virtues of true knights. She knew the truth of that now, and she suspected, especially in her Lord Husbands current state, that it was as much a means to be an imposing figure as it was an attempt to keep upright. Had she been in a better mood, Sansa might have smirked to herself at his stubbornness. _Thinking that I don’t know him as well as I do…_ The irony of it all had not been lost on her. 

—

Sansa felt the pull of the reigns and the lurching halt of her pony long before she realized she had any need of stopping, so lost in her thoughts was she. Sansa Glanced sidelong at Sandor’s hands, where the lead rope rested tightly. His knuckles white and straining despite the fact they bore no resistance from either her or her gelding. It was not curiosity, but fear which beckoned her to follow the line of his armor, and in turn his gaze. At that moment, Sansa would have given all the gold in Casterly Rock, had it been hers to give, to be back in Westeros.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this yet, because I'm not sure it's done.. But I feel like the next one will be much longer so *shrugs*
> 
> Also, I watched Jurassic World, and if anything was ever ready for a sansan AU...

The _unsullied_ had appeared from the crowd like smoke through the tendrils of a fire. More yet appeared to their flanks, and yet more to the rear of their little convoy. The dutiful currier who had led them thus far had vanished as they appeared, and Sandor cursed the boy under his breath. He felt a change as Stranger tensed under his thighs, ready to flee or attack on command and held the reign steady as the warhorse stamped his hooves, and blew a loud snort. Sandor’s other hand tightened on Sansa’s lead rope, he could hear her gelding stamping as well, and felt the push of its flanks as it shied away from the unsullied and their spears. He should have made Sansa ride behind him. He knew instinctively that her horse would do her no good if it became to skittish. It would throw her, and he was in no shape to break her fall. 

Sandor hazarded a glance to his right, away from the danger before them in order to see how Sansa fared. She was watching the soldiers before them, all color gone from her face… Her lip quivered, but stayed firm and her brows knit tightly together. He too was wary yes, but not frightened. He had heard tales of the Unsullied, all soldiers had. These boys who would never be men, who’s very souls were taken from them with the murders of babes and loyal dogs, and whose bodies were numbed to pain… He knew their power, and he knew that had the unsullied meant to kill he and Sansa, they would already be dead. 

The busy street around them had grown silent, as the peasants watched the scene unfold. The Unsullied held their stances, and did not speak. After what seemed like a lifetime, a soldier separated from the pack. He, if that is what he could be called, had stood directly before Sandor. The soldier raised his chin, and stood back from his brethren his eyes making firm contact with Sandors own. Sandor understood their meaning well enough and took firmer grasp of his and Sansa’s reigns. The unsullied who stood apart turned about face stomping his foot loudly on the cobbled streets, as one the others followed suit. As if they shared one mind, the group of soldiers began to march forward in unison, forcing their captives along with them. At first they marched slowly, however as soon as the lumbering cart began to gain pace their speed increased to a brisk jog and Sandor found himself bouncing along at a cantor to keep speed. The incessant bouncing shook him within his armor, and he griped the reigns tighter though his grip was not all it should have been. Darkness tugged at the corners of his eyes, and Sandor felt himself threaten to be swallowed by the pain that plagued him. "My Lord?" Sansa's voice broke through the sound of marching feet, barely a whisper yet cloaked with concern. _Even after everything I have done, she still shows me kindness. I deserve it naught._ Sandor turned to her, albeit only just, and nodded his head. Her crinkled brow eased ever so slightly, and she turned away, assured that he would not die yet. _Not now, nor anytime soon if I have any say in matters._ Sandor grasped Strangers reigns tighter, and quickened his pace. 

—-

His master rode forth with renewed vigor, and without fear at the behest of the strange guards, and Gevin urged the cart into motion behind them. Shae had slunk closer to him, and although she did not quite touch him, Gevin felt her at his side. Whether it be for his benefit or her own, he could not tell. The handmaiden, as she claimed to be, was a strange sort. She had once regaled Gevin with many a raunchy tale deep within the holds of the ship as their masters slept fitfully above, and had helped him to a lords share of wine. He, in turn, had taught her a trick or two with his daggers, and told his own tales of battles he had seen by Sandor’s side. She had seemed little enough interested in those, and so he turned the topic to the maintenance of armor having little else to speak of. Shae had fallen asleep soon after, and he had dozed himself tangled up with her amongst the rope. 

Since then, and since their time on the road the two had formed a companionship of sorts. They had spent a lot of time together, and often shared or split their duties in carrying for the lord and lady. Shae knew how Gevin idolized Sandor, and how the lord rued his squire for it. Given knew that when they left Kings Landing, Shae had left the lord she often laid with… The man she thought to love. Gevin thought of his Lord and Lady. They had fought bitterly since they wed, and made love to each other with just as much passion, he’d heard both and knew the truth of it. They were both equally stubborn, and equally tormented. They did not see fit to share themselves fully and suffered for it. He wondered if they might reconcile before long, what with their lives on the line and the babe on the way. He hoped so. It was not a high house he came from, and did not wish to try to find another knight to squire for after having served the hound for so long. He thought it odd that just now things such as this might come to him. As the soldiers forced them at a brisk pace through the city, Gevin wondered what might come next. 

—-

The currier slid back through the crowed and watched from the shadows as the party moved off. As the party surged forward the currier slipped back into the crowd to be lost as an anonymous soul amongst the masses, the weight of the fat mans purse heavy against his thigh. He slipped an oyster from a cart and ate it casually as he wove through the crowd, thinking on the fate of those he had left behind. The Unsullied would take the long way, of course, to confuse the weary travelers. Their journey longer still if the warrior lord could keep to his horse, then twist their way up and up and up to the manse. He would be waiting for them there, the fat man. Waiting to romance them with words, and tempt them with fate. The boy wondered what they might chose, and had half a mind to seek them out himself. He was intrigued by this fiery woman, and her fierce protector. The boy took a running leap and flipped himself up to an awning, and then again ran and leapt through the air to land gracefully upon the wall of a mance. _The children could use a good story… and the lord may have need for a second pair of eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment and let me know how I'm doing guys, I've resurrected this after a year of not working on it and I want to make sure it's still flowing well... Any feedback would be appreciated! :)


	20. chapter 20

Chapter 20

Illiryo’s nine-towered mansion stood as if a beacon in the city, and Sansa stood tall on one of its many balconies. Her new silken robe wafting gently in the morning breeze, dancing about her ankles and joining her hair in blowing loosely out across the morning sky. She fancied that both appeared to form a ribbon of color which stretched out towards the harbor. The air was not yet thick with heat and damp, and she could still smell the clear cool air of the ocean. It wouldn’t be long before the stench of the city reached her nose, which had grown ever sensitive to smells of late, and she relished the moments of peace and clarity the morning provided her. 

Sandor lay still abed, his heavy slumber a result of a strong dreamwine. The man had made it to the manse, and had walked stoically as they had been silently ushered to their current chamber. There they had been left. A table had been set with food and drink, and a large tub, big enough for two or more sat in an adjoining chamber. The water within it steaming and scented. She and Sandor had been left to their own devices, locked away from Sandor’s squire, and Sansa’s lady’s maid, yet wanting for nothing… Nothing but news of who had welcomed them, and why they were brought here. 

After the unsullied had surrounded them, they had been brought here to the top of Pentos, to this great mansion atop a high hill. Sandor had been poorly by then, yet still sat tall and proud in his saddle. They had been greeted by no one but a servant, who bid them enter. As he did so, the unsullied, as Sandor had told her they were called later that evening, had vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Sansa did not like these men, she knew not of their origin but she disliked the deadened look in their eyes. It was then that they were brought here to this room and its luxuries, and here they were left. 

Had Sandor strength in him, she was sure the man would not have come quietly. He would have swore and beat his fists upon the door. They had left him his sword. In fact they had made no move to take it or any other weapon from him, that alone made Sansa all the more uncertain. Even still, with all that she should be wary of, she could not help but feel pleasant when the sun had come up. They were fed and warm, Sandor’s wounds had been seen to… washed and bandaged anew, and he had acquiesced to a full glass of dream wine. The wine had calmed him and after some few hours he had called to her on the balcony where she had gone to watch the sun set. 

_“little bird…”_ he had all but whispered, his eyes drooping only just. She had wondered if he would apologize, or find some new thing to be vex with her about. She _knew_ he still was upset with her, he must have been. Yet she carried his child. _He must keep me near and in good health for that at least_ She thought piteously. They had been so close to becoming something more, yet all that had happened seemed to force him back from her, back into his cage of anger and sharp words as he had been when they had first met. Sandor had changed so much as they had come to know each other, and even more after they had wed and shared each other secrets… yet now… 

Sansa had approached the bed, and he had used what remained of his strength to pull her to him, and press his chest firmly against her back. He wrapped himself around her like a vice, and she felt his breath hot and heavy on her neck as he breathed her in. Sandor’s hands graced her skin, and made slow lazy circles as they ran down her sides. Sansa felt their warmth as the settled on her belly, grasping gently at the small bulge that had begun to form there. _feeling what is his… This thing that binds us together_ Sansa whimpered almost bitterly as his hands trailed lower and began to raise her shift. The dreamwine may have stayed his hand, and lowered his voice, but it did naught to stem his urges. 

_“My lord”_ She gasped, as his hands began to massage her lower and lower. “You have had a hard day and are hardly well… mayhap—“ Sansa gasped as his fingers slipped inside her.

“It has been too long, little wife. And I am well enough.” He countered, his voice low and thick with sleep. Sansa gasped again, and clutched at the sheets as he continued his ministrations, feeling comfort and pleasure despite herself as he worked his hands faster. She knew he should not be exerting himself so, and she knew that they were not as close as they could have been after all of their arguments of late, and yet… The feel of his hands made her feel safe, and as though he did truly care for her as he saw to it she got her own pleasure before seeking his own. Sansa moaned into the pillow, turning herself at an awkward angle, given how he held her, to stifle her cries. He groaned and she felt his length harden as he ground himself against her in earnest. Finally, when she was so close to grasping that ever elusive feeling, he stopped gasping for air and his arm falling limp before her. He growled in what she could only assume was anger or frustration, and somewhere deep within she knew he hadn’t the strength he thought. In only a moment, and without knowing what came upon her, Sansa turned and rolled him onto his back. 

—-

He had been an ass. He lacked the social graces to accept his wounds with dignity and accept the help of others. He knew that, and still he could not bring himself to embrace his current weakness. If he could but recover _faster_ he thought frustratedly, then he would be of use again. He was nothing now, paltry, injured and of vile temper. He was no use to anyone like this, his body was the only thing he could offer, and with his injuries… it was completely worthless. He was completely worthless. 

It had seemed silly, as he’d called to her. He had taken the dream wine, drained his glass. Sandor had sought relief in the wine, before it occurred to him what it truly was. Even then, when he had tasted the strong herbs on his tongue he had continued to drink. _Put me out of my misery, and give the girl some respite from my temper_ he had thought angrily as he'd drained it. The wine had left him in a trancelike state, and he had felt as though he’d watched from afar as the little bird had flitted about. She had seen to bathing him, and redressing his wounds, even brought him to the bed where he now lay. He had dozed in and out for hours it had seemed, and came too still feeling as if in a dream, yet with renewed vigor. It was then he had called to her, and meant to make love to her. As a way to apologize, if only because he could not bring himself to say the words. His body had failed him though, and as he struggled to bring her to her peak, he had lost all strength. Sandor felt even more ashamed of himself, and had he the power, would have lashed out and struck his fist against something. _anything_

Sansa had tensed when he’d stopped, and he could tell she knew. The girl surprised him with what she did then. Without sparing a look at him, Sansa turned and rolled him onto his back. Her hands strong and sure, as she carefully climbed atop him and came to rest atop him. The girl gently lifted her shift and tugged it over her head, her hair catching in the fabric and then falling as a curtain about her face as it fell free. It had been so long since they had been together, he had almost forgot her beauty. Now, seeing her sitting tall above him, with her subtle curves and the ever growing swell of her belly… full with his child. It stirred him, and gave him a renewed sense of strength. He made to grasp her but she caught his hands in her own, the calloused and coarse meeting the soft and delicate. She brought them to rest above his own head, and pinned them there with one hand, the other running through his hair, straightening it and brushing it aside so she might see his face. Their eyes met then, and he felt ashamed of his weakness and turned away. She caught his chin, and turned him back to face her. Eyes glowing bright with determination. 

—-

No words were spoken, none were needed. Sansa knew what she was doing, in instinct if not in action. She traced her hand down his chest, her fingers twisting about in the thick dark hair there. His muscles appeared to ripple under his skin as she caressed him, his chest heaving with every breath and shuddering under her touch. She felt herself stirring even more, deep within her core. She craved him, and sought to feed that craving. Sansa dipped her free hand between them, working at the laces of his pants until she had them loose. It was near impossible to remove his pants without her other hand, and she shot him a look in warning as she let him loose. He heeded her, and instead reached further up. His strong hands wrapping around the headboard and grasping it tightly. 

 

Now free to concentrate, Sansa continued to move the fabric lower grateful as he lifted his hips only just so the heavy wool could slip ever lower exposing his swollen member. It seeped a liquid from its tip, and sprung free with such a force Sansa jumped, then giggled in spite of herself. As the fabric finally sank low enough Sandor kicked it free, in doing so he cause Sansa to lose her balance and she fell dangerously close to his aching manhood. She heard Sandor catch his breath as she came eye to tip with the thing. A sudden urge overcame her then, and she sat up only slightly, taking him in her mouth. 

It was such a sudden urge that all she could think was to listen to his responses and to repeat what caused him the most grief. He gasped and groaned as she worked him, and when she thought she might burst, she stopped. Grasping his member, Sansa straightened up. Sandor breathed heavily beneath her, and his eyes burned with lust and the fury of what had just been denied him. Sansa ignored him, and focused on what she held in her hands. It was stiff and heavy in her palm, and as she rose above it and gently pressed it inside herself she heard Sandor groan, his hands jerking up. She caught them in her own, and forced them back down to the bed, sinking slowly down upon him as she did so, and feeling herself stretch to accept him. Feeling herself become full. Sansa rocked her hips building a steady rhythm, her breath becoming short with the exertion. Sandor had never taken her like this, or she supposed, she had never _taken_ Sandor like this. She liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that this was initially a smutfic, and yet has been lacking in smut as of late so I wanted to fix that. There is more to it than that though, their relationship is very unspoken, and I wanted to find some other way for them to communicate what they felt... Sansa has some stuff to work through with how she thinks he feels about her, and Sandor just needs to stop being an ass basically. But i'm trying to have character arcs dang it!! Let me know how I did??


	21. chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::attempts to advance the plot::

Gevin was not happy. They had been in the manse a fortnight, and he had yet to see the outside of his room. There was a balcony, to be fair, yet it opened off out to a sheer drop with no way for him to use it to escape. He had no way of knowing how is masters faired, and worse, Shae had gotten tired of his company after the first few days. Her chamber was adjoin his own, they had taken there meals together and spoken when there was naught else to do. Eventually however, the woman began to bore with his “whining” as she called it, about their lack of ability to see just how Sandor and the Lady Sansa faired. 

He was so bored after she had stopped talking to him, that he had taken to practicing with his sword and daggers at all hours he was awake. Until Shae had swatted at him for ruining a part of the wall with the tips of his daggers. She seemed far to calm and resolved to fate for his liking, and he wondered if the woman had some secret she was not sharing. His suspicions were ever more concerned when he noticed that she slept longer than usual, and had the slightest hint of purpling around her eyes. 

He had decided after yet another uneventful day to watch Shae through the night, to see if she hid something from him. The boy had taken great care to make a show of going to bed as usual, and had waited some time until he knew she had done the same. He then slipped from his chamber and across their common room, making his way with great stealth to her own. 

The great chambers door had been left ajar, and he stole through its opening with ease. Although he had not truly expected Shae to still be abed, he could not say he wasn’t surprised to find her there sleeping soundly. Gevin stepped gently forward, watching as her chest rose and fell softly with every breath, her face showing a peace in slumber that it did not bare in times of wakefulness. _I shall wait then_ He resolved, and melted back into the shadowy drapes that framed the room.

—-

Shae woke with a start, as she always did when her visitor came. The shadow boy haunted her nights, and was causing her to look old before her time. Shae thought she might chastise him for it tonight, and ask why he could not visit an hour not of the wolf. 

“I hope you have brought me some wine.” she complained, brushing the sleep from her eyes.

“Sweet honeyed wine, my lady.” A heavy accented voice replied, low and foreign to her ears. She knew this voice almost as she did her own, for he had not left her be this past fortnight. The shadow boy stepped forward, placing a gift on the side table and producing a glass from his cloak with a flourish. 

“I don’t need tricks, I need sleep. Stop with your games.”

“You grow tired of me?”

“I grow tired of waiting up late for you to arrive, only to give up and have you arrive just as soon as I drift off to sleep.”

“Are your dreams a happy place then?” He asked, taking the flask and filling both their glasses. He drained his lazily as she answered. 

“I dream of simpler times.” She whispered, taking the other chalice and sipping at it. Shae winced at the taste, and took another sip. “This is not good wine.”

“No. I daresay the merchant I stole it from won’t miss it.”

Shae drank to that, the poorly tasting wine wetting her throat and settling in the hollow of her belly. It reminded her of a time long ago when she had no food to fill her belly, and only the drinks those who wished to bed her purchased graced her palate. Those were not good wines either, _For who would waste good coin on a woman?_ The thought depressed her, and she sought to change the subject. 

“What do you dream of boy? Besides waking women at all hours.”

“I dream of dragons.”

“There are no dragons.”

“There are, as your lord and lady are soon to find, and you with them.”

Shae raised an eyebrow in question, and placed the glass back on the night stand. “A fortnight you see to pester me, and now you speak of dragons. I should have killed you long ago. Be gone from here.”

“You would see me leave so soon?” he asked, showing no intent to leave her. 

Shae stood and strode to the open balcony, stilling only when a gentle breeze washed over her. 

“Will you haunt me still, after we leave this place?” she asked the air, knowing without turning that the shadow boy had followed, careful of the moonlight. 

Shae didn’t bother to glance in his direction, she knew nothing of how he looked. The boy had always visited her in the night, and took great care to see that she could not describe him. After she had tried in vain to light a lamp in his presence once, catching him unaware, the boy had taken to wearing a scarf across his mouth and nose. When she had asked him why, he had said it was best this way, that she would see. Shae had not tried again, there seemed to be no point. 

“I will go, and when you venture south, I shall be among your party.” 

“We will not go. Sansa will soon grow heavy with her child, being out in the desert surrounded by bandits and Dothraki hoards is no place for her.” 

“She will go.” he said, without hesitation. “Her lord and slaves in tow.”

“I am no slave.” Shae bit out, turning to him. Even unable to see his face, Shae swore he smiled at her outburst. 

 

“No. I should think not.”   
his robes billowed in the breeze as he strode quietly to the edge, surveying the city below. “Get some rest, my lady, and tell your other shadow, he need not fear. The lord and lady are well, and you shall see them soon.” 

He leapt from the ledge in an instant, and Shae never heard him fall. She did however hear the sound of a second shadow emerging from the drapery to the side of her bed. 

_So now it would seem I have two young boys watching me sleep_ Shae sighed, and gently brushed her thick black curls back from her face. Gevin strode to the balcony where she stood eyes searching the darkness. He turned to her, at a loss.

“Shae? Who—“

“Stay and drink, or go to bed. I tire of talking.” 

Gevin pondered her for a moment, before retrieving the wine and glasses from inside. Shae had taken up residence on a bench when by the time he returned. Gevin sat passing her the other glass. The boy burned with questions, she knew. However he had learned his place well, and knew normally not to test her when she bossed him about so. This time she did not see him keeping suit, and so Shae lay back onto her pillows and sipped at her own wine, watching him. Waiting. At last he made to speak, Shae spoke over him, silencing him. 

“You get one.” Her dark brown eyes bore into him in the darkness, and he understood.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess not having wifi adds to creativity because I just busted this out in like an hour. lol Hopefully it doesn't read like it was written in an hour... Thank you thank you to everyone still following this story, I know its literally taking 5eva to finish but I really enjoy working on it and love to hear everyones feedback. :D

She had seen many great manses such as this, and though they may seem pleasing to the eye, she knew that rot lay just beneath the surface. As a young girl it had been naive hope that had driven her to first board a ship which took her rom these lands, from the continent of Essos. The captain had been kind, but had declined her passage. The shipmates however, they had been crude, but had welcomed her journey with open arms. 

She had reveled in their stories for a while, shared their laughs and their wine. Until the day that joyful smiles were not enough to sustain. As the journey grew long, their true intentions had come to light. In the end, She had paid for her travels. Roughly hew wood scratching the thin fabric of her shift, its folds of fabric pushed up high and twisted as she lay stretched out on her back, with her legs spread and the smell of salt and sweat to greet her nose. 

The sailors took their pleasure, and in the end when the captain discovered her.. Gone were the gentle smiles with which he had denied her passage. He cursed her and struck her and took her to his cabin to stay out the rest of their journey. Alas, he was no better. Yet she learned much. Little things really. It was discovered that a girl might fare better when kept in the company of a more powerful man, and that coarse sheets were a welcome relief from coarse wood. That food from a captain or a knights table was often better than that of a sell-sword or a peasants. 

It shamed her to think that some of that same naïveté might remain, that she would slip away from one who might have seen her elevated to follow a young girl who lived in a song. _and yet I love her so_. The girl, Sansa, was a dedicated maiden. She seemed to make the best of her situation, even as it continuously became more and more bleak. Sansa was determined to love her ugly husband, the brute. _Even if he does worship her… He seems a vile man, and no good to anyone._ Or so she had thought, time had proven there was another side to him. One hidden deeply within, and she thought that is what she might have clung to. 

Despite all, Shae had found herself following them. On a journey from Kings Landing through a thick wood. To a tavern where her lords life was almost taken from them, to a ship where they had all thought they might die from sickness and finally here to this manse. This manse with its seemingly eternally locked red doors, and it’s marble floors. All on the whispers of a spider. 

Shae stretched, and let her feet slide to the ground. The silken sheets of her cot slipping away like drops of water down a ducks back and falling to the floor. The chill of the cool marble floors driving away any remnants of sleep, forcing her to widen her eyes at the sensation. Despite the noisy birds of the master’s menagerie she had slept late, the habit was forming and since they had no tasks laid before them she found herself falling into a routine that involved little and less effort. 

The soft glow of the sun rising beyond the city had yet failed to turn to the bright light of morning, yet Shae had much to do. The maid who had appeared as if from nowhere the night before had informed her that after two fortnights of waiting, her Lord and Lady would finally meet their host. _Their captor more like_ she thought grimly. The news was sudden, and something she had almost given up on. Today, she would be allowed to see her lady, finally. Sansa would no doubt have grown as the child inside her grew, and they must see that a dress was altered enough to suit. 

It would need to be sewn, something which Shae did poorly, yet had been practicing in her newly acquired free-time, for her ladies sake. She would also need to see to whatever washing had piled up, unless the houses servants had seen to that. _I will then have to see to the great oaf. Sansa will want him washed and mended… His wounds should be healed, but he will need to be dressed as well. Luckily that’s what squires were for._

She drew herself up, unable to help the languid stretch that teased her muscles. A cool breeze ruffling the gauzy curtains draping the windows, and caressing her bare skin. 

“Why must you taunt me so.” 

The sleepy voice was nothing more than a murmur, yet her keen ears caught it all the same. He had taken to sharing one of the large beds with her, for company more than anything as he never dared touch her even in his sleep. Their eyes met briefly, and Gevin huffed a large sigh. He grasped the sheets which had ridden down and pulled them to his chin, rolling over so that his back was too her. 

She liked the boy, liked that he saw fit to protect her as he did his masters. _As if I needed it_ She liked how he insisted on looking away when she strode about with bare skin, his reason being _“A true knight would extend a lady more courtesy and privacy than I can afford you, yet I shall do what I might regardless.”_ The boy had blushed as he said it the first time she had done so in front of him. Now however, as he saw that she cared naught for propriety she always seemed to catch him sparing a brief glance before chastising her for her immodesty. 

Shae liked to torment the loyal squire. She liked to find wherever he had placed himself both in the keeps, in the inns they had stayed at, in the woods or the ship, and now in the manse and sleep in the same space. So that she might see him blush when he awoke with her next to him. So that she could feel his need the one time fatigue and drink had overcome his senses and he had awoken with her in his arms. Small though they might be, for he was still young, yet she hadn’t minded. He hadn’t spoken to her for nigh on two days when that had happened, although that was all that happened. He had yet to finish growing, but he was strong, and smart. Cunning and kind. She had a notion he might turn out to be a good sort, if the Lord and Lady were true to him. 

——

Sansa was hot, where only moments before she could have sworn she was chilled to the bone. It seemed she was never comfortable of late, and she counted down the minutes until the sun rose and it would not seem odd for her to no longer be asleep should Sandor awake. 

He had healed well, this last few weeks. The respite had allowed his wounds to heal, and had given him time to work his muscles. It would be some time before he was as strong as he had once been, but only last night Sansa had watched him practice with his sword. She knew little of swordplay, yet she knew he was of the best in Westeros. Even now, in his condition, he was still as fast as a blur. Quick and strong, she had watched with wide eyes as the sweat had beaded upon his bare chest and back, his muscles straining with the effort. 

The renewed vigor had also stirred his desire, even more so since she had taken him when they had first arrived at the manse. Just last night, he had worked him self up so much that she had been taken unaware while attempting to dress for bed. He had come upon her, covered in a shine of sweat, shirtless and practically growling. Sansa had been afraid at first, of the look in his eye as he’s strode toward her. His rough hands had grasped her, backing her into her dressing table, and lifting her swiftly upon it. 

There was a moment, when his own steel grey eyes met her own blue, where Sansa forgot her almost constant discomfort of late. She forgot how she felt less than pretty, as she grew heavier with child, she forgot that they were in a strange land locked away in a palace in the sky. She forgot everything except for the hulking man in front of her, whose gaze burned like a fire which threatened to consume her. And it did. 

It was not a love from the songs, it was like nothing she had ever heard of. It felt wrong and right all at once and only served to confuse her more. He had taken her roughly, there with her bottom resting upon the dressing table. Her legs had been held high around his hips, muscled as an ox though he was, and she had grasped at his damp flesh as though her life had depended on it. He hadn’t hurt her, but he had stolen her breath. 

Sansa felt at the muscles of her thigh as the sun rose softly over the city below, and pulled her sheets a little tighter. She had bruises just there, on the backs of them. The pale flesh tinged ever so slightly in the dim light of morning. The welts were only another addition to the growing blight on her beauty. She felt plump and as though none of her clothing fit, taking to wandering about their rooms in naught but the flowing silken robes which had been left to her. Not that Sandor had seemed to mind that either. She would catch him watching her when he was not otherwise occupied. 

As if he could sense her unrest, Sansa suddenly felt the warm of Sandor’s hand as it snaked before her splaying his long fingers across her belly. She felt him as he moved closer, and pulled her tightly to him. He had taken to this of late. She had come to understand that his actions meant as much as his words might have, and liked to fill in the blanks. _Good morning little wife_ He might of said. _How fare you and my heir on this fair day?_ Sansa felt the warmth of his breath as he kissed a line up her neck. _I dreamt of you._ She imagined him purring in her ear. _And awoke with such a longing I could not resist._ Sandor rolled her too him, and began to cover her lips with languid sleepy kisses. 

He moaned deeply as she returned his gesture, his eyes still closed against the dull brightness of morning. As he kissed her, his hand slunk low on her belly finding that place between her thighs. His moan turning to a groan as he felt her own need for him. It was nothing she could help. She liked him like this, gently and quiet, before he had truly his wits about him. Before he thought to raise his walls to protect himself from what others thought of him. 

She gasped as his fingers found their way inside. His mouth breaking from hers and forming one of his wicked half smiles. They were rare, and twisted his face in such a way that might have frightened her once. Not anymore, he could not scare her now. His eyes alight with mischief as he gazed upon her. 

“Someone is pleased to awaken it would seem.” He growled deeply. His voice was always deeper in the morning, and deeper still when he was aroused. It made her shiver. “If I’d thought to find you thus…” He kissed at her neck, his hand quickening. She gasped again. “I’d have awoken sooner.” 

Sansa felt her muscles clench tightly, her legs all but seizing in a blissful agony, her mouth falling open as he fell upon her ravenously. Again, she couldn’t breath, yet it seemed to matter little. He crawled atop her, hand cruelly ceasing its ministrations. 

“I shall have you now.” He whispered in her ear. 

Sansa recalled the last time he had whispered such to her. They had been married not even a sennight, and he had just killed Ser Dontos to save her from ruin. He had returned to their chambers and demanded she help him disrobe. As she had tentatively began to work his buttons he had leaned close and whispered those words in her ear. It evoked the same reaction then as now, and Sansa felt a distinctive chill spread through her, culminating with the entrance of his manhood to her core. 

He thrusted slow and deeply at first, finding his rhythm. His grunts and moans the only sound in the quiet morning. Sansa found herself crying out as well as his pace quickened, as he twined his hand between them to find her and to draw her from her shell. Sansa clung to him, and he kissed her forcefully, for he was truly awake now. They came together in a rush, muscles tight and skin wet with their efforts. She felt him spill inside her, all warm and somehow comforting. He withdrew then, and lay by her side his fingers drawing lazy circles on her stomach. 

“What do you reflect on?” Sansa asked, when some time had passed, and he had not thought to move. 

Sandor’s grey eyes found hers briefly, before turning back to the swell of her belly. He appeared to chew on his words, before at last replying. 

“I wonder that it will be a healthy babe, that you and it will survive the birthing.”

“That is sometime off yet.” 

Sansa leaned forward to brush back a lock of raven black hair, which had fallen in his face. He caught her hand in his own and pressed his lips to it, holding it there a while. 

“I wonder that it might be more like you than I. Kind and gentle and wise.” 

“Smart and strong, like its father too.” She suggested, caressing his face. 

“I’m nothing to aspire too. I’m coarse and cruel. A hired blade… A toy that my master’s and betters might use at their will.” He frowned, his expression darkening. “I have little enough to be proud of Sansa.”

She watched his brow furrow, and felt his grip on her hand slacken. “My father would have liked you, had he gotten to know you I should think. The real you. What I see.” 

“He’d not like the thought of the Hound fucking his little girl, you’re a fool if you think else-wise.” 

“Then I’m a fool.” 

A sudden knock interrupted them, and both their gazes flashed to the chambers door. A familiar voice broke through. 

“My lady?” Shae’s voice called, muffled though it was.

Sansa felt her spirits lift, at last something had changed. She swatted at Sandor gently and bid him answer the door. He grumbled at having been interrupted and caught a sheet to wrap around his narrow hips.


End file.
